


Of Soldiers and Secrets

by nanuk_dain



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Action, Angst, Easy Company frienship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-31 03:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 62,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17841560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanuk_dain/pseuds/nanuk_dain
Summary: A series of moments in the life of the Easy men, from Foy until after the war, focussing on the development of the relationship of Carwood Lipton and Ronald Speirs.Note: This is basically the long overdue, reworked, reordered and improved version of the series "Of Soldiers and Secrets" that I posted back in 2011.





	1. Of Courage and Strength (Speirs/Lipton)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few days off (YAY!) and I decided to finally tackle reworking a few old fics that desperately need it. I've wanted to do that for years, but I never had the time until now... You know how it is ^_^ I realised quite some time ago how many mistakes there were (mostly language and spelling) and it's been bugging me ever since. I guess it's true that practise makes perfect (or at least better XD), because these fics were written at the beginning of my "career" and it showed.
> 
> So here it is for you now, a sparkling new version without the many many mistakes *shudders* and finally in chronological order as one continuous story. Enjoy! ^_^ 
> 
> The lovely banner was made by MeganMoonlight! *hugs*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The convent at Rachamps was a place full of epiphanies. Or: How Speirs was overwhelmed by his First Sergeant.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)  


 

Lipton knew with absolute certainty that Easy finally had a good leader again when he watched Lieutenant Speirs run through the German lines as if it was nothing, back to where he and Luz had taken cover behind the corner of a house. He found himself unable to look away, unable to fight the grin that spread over his face or the excitement that coursed through his entire body.

He'd had an inkling before, when the new CO had relieved Dike and listened to Lipton's description of the current situation, when the orders he'd given had come swiftly and had taken everything into account. Now that Lieutenant Speirs was crouched on the ground next to him, weapon ready even after his sprint across the town, Lipton knew the inkling had been proven right. 

He hadn't felt that good in months.

*** 

Luz watched the hand on Lip's shoulder and tried to hide his smirk. 

Lieutenant Speirs' hand, to be exact. On Lip's shoulder. Other times, it had been on his upper arm. Or his elbow. Or his back. Once, about four days ago in Foy, right before Speirs had made this mad dash over to the other platoon, Luz had even seen it on Lip's thigh. For the cold-hearted bastard he was rumoured to be, the Lieutenant was quite physical with his First Sergeant. 

Who was completely oblivious. Sometimes Luz just couldn't help wondering how Lip had managed to stay this innocent, almost naïve, in this cruel war. But somehow he just _was_ oblivious, at least in certain matters, and that was the most fascinating part of this whole thing with Speirs. Because Luz wondered when Lip _would_ finally catch on that the lieutenant was treating him differently. And how he'd react to it. Lip wasn't the kind of person who liked to be favoured, even if it was only in the way Speirs seemed to accept him where he ignored almost everybody else. But the men liked to keep having Lip as a kind of buffer between Speirs and them. 

A buffer that worked fantastically, by the way.

Speir said something else to Lip while pulling out his pack of Lucky Strikes and putting one between his lips. Then he held the pack out to Lip as an offer, and Luz watched fascinated how Lip accepted a cigarette without even the slightest hesitation. Speirs put the pack back into his breast pocket and pulled out a lighter, lighting his own cigarette. He didn't hand over the lighter then, though, instead he held out his hand, flame still burning. Lip took hold of his wrist, encasing the flame with his other hand to protect it against the wind, and bent down to light his own Lucky Strike. 

Had it been any other men, Luz wouldn't have looked twice. But with Speirs and all the rumours flying around, him handing out cigarettes had almost become equivalent to a death omen in the company. Luz couldn't remember anybody ever accepting when the lieutenant had offered. Not that he did it often. This gesture only seemed to extend to Lip and Nixon.

Once the smokes were lit, Speirs and Lip were back in conversation, and after a moment, Speirs turned to leave. His hand returned to Lip's shoulder for a short squeeze that seemed to be a goodbye and it left Lip's shoulder as quickly as it had come up. Luz was sure Lip hadn't even been consciously aware that it had been there. Maybe it was time to change that, he mused and watched how the First Sergeant walked over to where Luz was sitting on the bed of the truck. Most of the men were inside the houses of the town they were staying in for the night on their way to Rachamps, but Luz had wanted a moment alone and had settled on the truck parked right outside the house he was stationed in. 

“Yo, Lip! You accepted his cigarette and you're still alive.” Luz greeted him with a grin. “Maybe miracles _do_ happen, after all.”

Lip leaned against the truck bed and gazed up at Luz who was sitting next to him with his feet dangling over the edge. “It wasn't a miracle, Luz. Just a smoke.”

“Others who accepted it died.” Luz couldn't help remarking and raised an eyebrow in question. “You know it means that he likes you, right?” 

“Him offering me a cigarette doesn't mean anything.” Lip said and held the halfway smoked cigarette out to Luz, who looked at it suspiciously for a moment before accepting it. Hell, a smoke was a smoke. And it wasn't as if it was Speirs offering it, even if it was one of his cigarettes. “You really shouldn't believe every rumour you hear, George.”

“I'm not only talking about the smoke, Lip.” Luz replied between two drags.

“Then what are you talking about?” Lip's posture was relaxed and he accepted the cigarette when Luz held it out to him. 

“I mean he _likes_ you.” Luz clarified and put an emphasis on the word. He had to get this across, really. It was becoming ridiculous. “I mean that you could probably tell him right out when you think he's wrong and he'd actually think about it instead of shooting you right away – like he would do with everybody else.”

Lip turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised sceptically. “You're exaggerating quite a bit, here. He wouldn't shoot anybody for that.”

“He wouldn't shoot _you_ , that's for sure.” Luz smirked and accepted the offered cigarette. “Why do you think we like to use you to talk to him instead of doing it ourselves?”

Lip huffed out a little laugh. “Cowards.” 

“Well, you have to admit that he actually listens to you. Asks for your advice. That is something other people can only dream of.” Luz stated and added, almost as an afterthought, “Except for Winters, maybe. And Nixon.”

“He's not as bad as the rumours claim, Luz.” Lip took the Lucky Strike back and inhaled the smoke. “Give him a chance.”

“Oh, he's a great CO, no doubt about that.” Luz agreed without hesitation. He'd rather follow Speirs than Sobel or Foxhole Norman, that was certain. At least Speirs knew what he was doing, and he didn't hide in the back while the men did the work. Nobody doubted his leadership qualities. It was more the personal character traits they were intrigued by. Like handing out cigarettes before killing twenty German POWs. Or shooting one of his men for being drunk and refusing to follow orders.

“Then why are you so wary of him?” Lip enquired and handed the Lucky Strike back. It was almost gone.

Luz just shrugged, he didn't really have an answer to that. It was just a gut feeling. “I wonder how you manage to _never_ be wary of him.”

“That's because I don't pay attention to rumours, Luz.” Lip said pointedly and threw Luz a gaze that was almost chiding. “I prefer to form my own opinions.”

Luz snorted and handed back the stump of the cigarette. “Easy for you to say, since he seems to like you.”

“What is it with you and this idea that he likes me?” Lip asked and looked at him with a frown on his face. “He treats me no different than the rest of the men.”

“Yes, he does.” Luz retorted and decided to put his final argument to use. “He touches you. Constantly, I may remark. He doesn't do that with anybody else. At least not unless he intends to kill them.” 

“Now you really are exaggerating, Luz. He is not touching me constantly.” Lip countered with a shake of his head, his voice sounding almost as exasperated as is sounded amused, and he flipped the burnt-down cigarette into the muddy street. “I really don't know where you get all those ideas, George.”

“You think it's only my imagination?” Luz just shrugged, knowing fully well that he was right. “Just pay attention, then. You'll see it for yourself.”

*** 

And he paid attention. It wasn't that he'd wanted to, but once Luz had said those words, Lipton hadn't been able _not_ to pay attention. Maybe it had been curiosity. Maybe it had just been the wish to find that Luz had indeed been exaggerating.

Which he hadn't been. It took Lipton only a day to see every point proven right. From the Speirs-actually-listening-to-him to the Speirs-constantly-touching-him. It was almost unnerving, because once he'd started to have a closer look at the Lieutenant and his behaviour, Lipton noticed what Luz had told him all along. Speirs _was_ treating him differently. And the men _did_ indeed use Lipton to get things transmitted to the Lieutenant that they suspected he wouldn't take too well. 

When they prepared the attack on Rachamps, Winters, Nixon and Speirs stood bent over the maps, and Lipton had joined them on Speirs' orders. He was included in the preparation, and he couldn't help noticing that Speirs asked for his advise on the best position for the men. And again Luz was proven right.

Right before the attack, when the men were in position and Speirs came to crouch down next to him on the frozen ground, Lipton felt the hand on his shoulder, felt the quick squeeze. 

“Let's hit them, Sergeant.” He heard Speirs' calm voice say, right before the Lieutenant shouted the order to move out. In the ensuing chaos of battle, it was easy to attribute the flutter in his stomach to the adrenaline coursing through his system.

What finally drove the point home was the genuine, warm smile on Speirs' face, a smile that actually reached his eyes, when he told Lipton of his battlefield commission in the convent in Rachamps. It hit him totally off guard. He hadn't expected it to transform Speirs' face this much, hadn't expected how it made his eyes glow, how it made him look almost youthful. 

Beautiful. 

He also hadn't expected his own reaction to it. The churning in his stomach, the sudden desire to see that smile again. He felt as if he was paralysed, he couldn't react appropriately, torn between the joy about the news of his promotion and the sudden realisation that he found his superior officer _beautiful_. That the tingling in his fingertips was caused by the desire to find out what the lock that had fallen in Speirs' face would feel like under his fingers if he stroked it back.

And he had never expected to see his desires reflected back at him in the dark green eyes of his Lieutenant. It was quickly masked, though, had only been visible for a brief moment, but it had been enough. Speirs made his excuses and left, and Lipton still stood rooted in place, right in front of the pew he'd been sitting on before, staring after him. There had been this tiny backward glance before Speirs had turned, this moment where their eyes had met, and it was this moment that convinced Lipton that he hadn't actually been imagining things. 

Speirs was not the kind of man to glance back. Yet he had.

Later that evening, when Lipton was walking back to the cell he'd been assigned for the night, the cell he knew he was supposed to share with the Lieutenant, he caught his thoughts running wild. He couldn't exactly say what had happened in the church, but he knew something had shifted. He knew he'd seen a part of Speirs that not many people ever got to see, knew that Speirs would never act on it. He didn't know what to do, how he should behave when he saw the Lieutenant again.

The decision was taken out of his hands when he entered the cell to find Speirs leaning against the wall, back turned to Lipton, one hand resting against rough plaster, head hanging, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. At the sound of his footsteps, Speirs' head shot up and his posture straightened immediately, but Lipton had seen it in the ieutenant's face before he could school his features. 

The weariness. The pain. The desperation. The exhaustion. The same things they all felt, the things that shone through in the other men sometimes. The things Speirs _never_ showed. 

He didn't hesitate, didn't think about what he was doing, he just followed his instincts same as he did in combat. He took the last few steps until he was right up in Speirs' personal space, then his hands came to rest on Speirs' sides, slowly, before pulling him in a firm embrace. It was when he felt the body in his arms relax and lean into him that he realised that he'd indeed never once been afraid of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs.

Not even now.

*** 

He'd been lost from the moment he'd first looked in those dark brown eyes, right there behind the haystack in Foy, with the bullets zipping past them and the shouts of the men echoing on both sides of the line. When he first touched the man, when his hand had found the firm shoulder hidden under layers of clothes, he'd known. He'd always been a man who kept his distance, physically and emotionally, yet with Carwood Lipton, he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself. It had been like a compulsion, out of his control, and it hadn't been the time to think about it, anyway. When he'd listened to the coherent, concise report on the status, when he'd seen the First Sergeant in combat and later when Lipton had run across the town to attract the sharpshooter's fire in order to give his men an opening to shoot the sniper, Speirs had known his subconsciousness had chosen wisely. Not that he'd ever had any influence on it.

The next days had been just like all those before, only that now, he was the commander of Easy. It was still the same war as it had been the day before. Things were the same. 

Except that they weren't. There was First Sergeant Lipton who he could tell after only a few hours was the true heart of Easy, the reason they'd come as far as they had. Speirs listened to rumours, went over reports, talked to Winters and Nixon. He observed, he paid attention, he kept his distance. He formed his opinion on the man who he knew could hurt him more than any bullet ever could. 

When they hit Noville, he already trusted Lipton completely in his position as the leader of a platoon of his own. If he was honest with himself, he had already trusted him in Foy. Now was just the moment where it actually was his decision, and he didn't hesitate a moment to assign Lipton the platoon that would take the lead. The operation went smoothly, and that night, when he first offered the man a cigarette – mostly to test his reaction – he was secretly satisfied that Lipton didn't hesitate. After that, he made it a habit to offer him a smoke.

It was in the convent in Rachamps, where heavenly music along with the peacefulness of the place and the prospect of getting off the line made the men almost forget about the war, that he let his guard down too far. He'd known he shouldn't have relaxed around Lipton that much, that the man had seen something in his eyes before Speirs had left for Battalion Headquarters, that he shouldn't have turned back for that last little glance. It had just happened, as if his body hadn't listened to his mind's commands. And Lipton had noticed it. 

Speirs was glad the cell he would share with his First Sergeant was empty when he got back. He didn't want to face the man now, not when he felt the weariness of the past weeks suddenly hit him with a vengeance and he needed time to regain his strength, time to put his mask back together. Without even knowing it, Lipton had begun to tear down the walls Speirs had always kept firmly in place between him and the rest of the world. It had been easier when he'd been on his own, when the only thing he'd cared about had been winning the war. 

He gritted his teeth, pulled out a cigarette and lit it, dragging the smoke into his lungs, waiting for the sense of relief that always came with it. It didn't come this time, he only tasted the burning smoke on his tongue. He felt incredibly vulnerable at that moment, when even his usual relief didn't work any more, and he braced his arm against the wall, leaning with the full weight of his body against it. His hand fell to his side and he allowed his head to hang, his eyes closed. Just one moment, then he would be back to his old self. He would stand up straight, would show no emotion, would tease the men by offering them cigarettes and would do his best to uphold his reputation. He'd always been good at that.

Suddenly there were almost silent footsteps behind him, somewhere by the door, and he couldn't help standing up and falling back into his military trained straight posture. He found Lipton in the entrance to the cell, his eyes full of honest concern, a worried frown on his face. He'd seen everything, understood everything. He'd seen Speirs with his shields down, and Speirs knew it.

Before he could even think about how to react to this, he saw Lipton cross the distance between them, felt hands on his sides. Lipton's eyes never left his until they were too close to keep each other in focus. It took Speirs a moment to realise that his First Sergeant had his arms wrapped around him and had pulled him close. For a moment, he felt himself go stiff with surprise, maybe even shock. He couldn't even remember when he'd last been embraced like this, with strength and concern, without any other intention than to hold, to comfort, to protect. He didn't think anybody had even dared to try ever since he'd left childhood. Ever since he'd started to fend for himself.

It was exactly what he'd needed, though, and he hadn't even known. A cell in a convent probably wasn't the most appropriate place for this, but it was war and Speirs had long since stopped caring for 'appropriate'. So after a moment, he let his eyes fall shut and allowed his forehead come to rest on Lipton's shoulder, his head turned so that his nose touched the skin of Lipton's throat. It was rough with stubble, and he slowly rubbed his nose across it, feeling the coarse little hairs passing over his skin, his lips. There was a smell of sweat, gunpowder and cigarette smoke lingering in the clothes under his face, and he took a deep breath. Under all these notes, there was another scent, something that he categorised as simply Lipton. It was perfect.

In everything he'd ever done in his life, Speirs had always been a man for all-or-nothing. So in this precise second, he decided to give everything he was to Carwood Lipton. 

Even if he didn't intend to tell him.


	2. Of Marks and Claims (Speirs/Lipton, implied Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speirs is not the only one who is possessive. Or: How Captain Speirs got bitten.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

They were doing it again.

Luz leaned back on the bench of the truck and looked over his shoulder so that he had a better view of the jeep next to which Speirs and Lip were standing with Nixon, Winters and Welsh, discussing something he couldn't hear due to the distance. But he wasn't really interested in their words, anyway.

And there, again. Lip this time, a short, quick glance at Speirs who returned it as if he'd known it would come. Then they were focussed back on the conversation going on, probably something about the route for today, according to the way Nixon was pointing out things on one of his multiple maps. Luz began counting in his head and he reached forty-six before Speirs' eyes flickered over to Lip.

Luz allowed his smirk to show and blew out a blueish cloud of smoke. It had started after Rachamps. Or at least, that was the first time he'd begun to notice the various forms of looks and glances between the lieutenant and his first sergeant. Before that, it had only been the touching, not those looks. Oh, Speirs still _did_ touch Lip, no changes there, but Luz had the impression that now, Lip returned those touches. 

Ha, _impression_! He'd _seen_ it.

The way Lip's hand sometimes grazed the lieutenant's lower back, almost accidentally, the way Lip leaned into Speirs' hand on his shoulder or on his arm, the way Lip seemed to smile more. Luz had never expected to say – or even think – that, but Speirs was doing Lip good. Although Luz didn't really want to know in which way. But he was sure that something had happened in Rachamps, and Luz prided himself in the knowledge that it was thanks to him opening Lip's eyes. 

And here we go again, Luz thought and pulled on his cigarette. Speirs this time. Short glance, maybe a whole conversation without a word.

In the course of the past few days, watching Speirs and Lip had become his favourite pasttime. They almost reminded him of Winters and Nixon, only that those two had long since stopped trying to hide their shared glances. But with Speirs and Lip, it was still new. Luz was pretty sure he was the only one who'd noticed it. Speirs and Lip had been getting along perfectly from the very beginning, and while that was something _everybody_ had noticed – apart from Lip, of course – the new level to their relationship was subtle, and the men had already got used to the way Speirs treated Lip differently. Hell, they counted on it when there were unpleasant news to transmit to the Lieutenant. Buffer Lipton was working better than ever.

The group next to the jeep dissolved, Speirs climbing in with Nixon and Winters in the jeep two rows in the front, Welsh taking the one they'd been standing next to, and Lip walked over to the truck Luz and the men were sitting on. Wordlessly, Luz extended his hand and pulled Lip on the truck bed. He moved over to his left on the bench so that Lip could sit down next to him, and offered him the still burning Lucky Strike.

“So, Lip, how far are we going today?”

“Captain Nixon says we should get to Luxembourg by nightfall.” Lip replied and gratefully accepted the almost-gone smoke.

“We're staying there for long?” Luz asked and took the cigarette back.

“No, only for the night.” Lip leaned back against the side of the truck, getting comfortable for the long hours of drive that lay ahead of them. It was early morning and there was nothing else to do but sit and wait while the trucks drove towards the next stop of their journey.

“Long drive.” Luz remarked and flipped the burnt down cigarette over the side of the truck.

Lip turned his head towards Luz and held out a new Lucky Strike, a smirk on his lips. “Want to share another?”

Luz eyed the cigarette suspiciously. Lip _never_ had his own smokes. He didn't even have a lighter. “Is that one from Speirs?” 

Lip just chuckled, his eyes sprinkling with amusement. “Maybe.”

“That man is spoiling you, Lip.” Luz replied with an indignant huff, but he was already reaching for his lighter. “Really.”

Lip didn't say anything, his smirk just widened. With the Lucky Strike between his lips he bent over to accept the flame Luz offered, then he inhaled the smoke before he handed the cigarette over to Luz.

*** 

They were on their way to Haguenau, spending most of their days on the trucks and the nights in whatever town they reached before nightfall or slept outside when there wasn't any town. It was a strange mix of busy and bored, most of the boys spent the time either playing cards, reading or sleeping, trying to get as much rest as they could before they reached Haguenau. 

Lipton did his best to encourage them. He knew how important it was for his boys to unwind at least for a few days, even if it was on the back of the trucks. Especially now that their return to Mourmelon had been cancelled. He himself spent his time between the men and the commanding officers, and he was busier than he'd expected with all the time they spent on the road. 

And he was infinitely glad for every busy moment. Because ever since he'd seen Speirs smile at him in the convent in Rachamps, something had been building up inside him. Some kind of tension that didn't let his thoughts come to rest. Maybe it had been building for even longer, maybe since George Luz had told him that Speirs treated him differently. Maybe even since Foy, Lipton couldn't really tell anymore. He just knew that it had become a constant presence in his mind.

And with it came the urge to touch. First, it had been silent, almost non-existent, but with every day that had passed, with each time he'd felt Speirs rest his hand on his arm, his shoulder, his back, it had become stronger. Until it wasn't possible to ignore it anymore, until his fingers itched with the urge to _feel_. He had never experienced such... _desire_. It was then that he'd first dared to touch his hand to Speirs' lower back when they'd been bent over a map in whatever room Speirs had commandeered for them for the night. He didn't know what he'd expected to happen, but he felt Speirs press back into his hand, throwing him a quick glance and a hint of a smile, never stopping in his explanations. For Lipton, that had been enough.

Back in Rachamps, in the convent, when he'd pulled Speirs into an embrace in their shared cell, he'd done it without even thinking about it. He hadn't considered ranks or appropriateness or possible risks; it had been an instinct, a reflex, driven by the spontaneous urge to support and to protect. He hadn't really been surprised when Speirs had accepted the unspoken comfort, although Lipton knew he should have been. Speirs wasn't the kind of man who leaned on others, who showed the need for comfort. In fact, he could have had Lipton punished for overstepping his boundaries so much, could even have had him court-martialled. Instead, he'd leaned in, had taken refuge in Lipton's embrace for a moment that Lipton would never be able to determine in its length. It could have been minutes or hours. 

When Speirs had straightened and pulled back, Lipton had let him go without resisting. He'd been given another one of those beautiful smiles and an almost silent 'thank you', then Speirs had retreated to his bedroll, back turned towards the wall, hand on his rifle next to him, and it had been clear that the moment was over. 

That night, it had taken Lipton a long time to fall asleep. 

The next day, he'd felt his eyes scanning the men for Speirs' familiar form. More than once. And he'd been surprised how often he'd encountered those green eyes watching him. By the end of the day, Lipton had realised that they had established a routine of looks and glances, had started to communicate through them. It had felt incredibly good, and he'd had to fight the urge to smile every time he caught Speirs' eyes.

It had only intensified this nameless desire to touch, every gaze had brought him closer to the breaking point. Lipton had never thought of himself as an impatient man, but right now, there was no other word to describe this: The urge to touch Speirs was almost overwhelming, every moment he spent out of sight of his Lieutenant made Lipton crave his presence. But when Speirs was standing next to him, Lipton had to fight to keep control of his body, to keep his distance. Today, he'd already found himself reaching out twice, and both times he'd been able to mask the motion at the last moment. Lipton couldn't remember ever having felt such an intense craving, such a _need_ for another person. He wanted to touch, no, he _needed_ to touch Speirs, wanted to find out what he felt like under his fingers. He was surprised and shocked by the strength of that emotion more than by its content.

It was still daytime when they reached the little town Captain Nixon had suggested for the night, and Lipton was relieved to get off the truck, away from his torturing thoughts. He threw himself into the organisation of the accommodation for the men for the night, sending teams out to clear houses and others to unpack the trucks and get food ready. He embraced the multiple tasks eagerly, glad for every moment they distracted him, kept his mind from wandering back to Speirs and his smile. He still didn't know how to deal with this obsession he had developed for the Lieutenant, so he tried not to think about it at all.

The sun was beginning to set by the time the men were settled. Lipton sat with Malarkey, Luz, Bull, Babe and Liebgott around a small table in the kitchen of a flat that had been vacated for the night, a metal mug in his hands with something inside that he didn't actually recognise. But food was food, and he'd long since stopped being picky. It was warm, it was edible, it didn't stink. That was enough for him after Bastogne. 

He'd just taken up Luz' spoon to get the last bit of the unidentifiable something out of his mug when a young private from another company knocked on the doorframe of the kitchen, his helmet in his hands, his expression insecure, his cheeks bright red and his breath quick, as if he'd been running. “Excuse me, sirs, I'm looking for First Sergeant Lipton...”

Lipton turned his attention from the spoon to the half-panicked private. “That's me.”

“Thank God! I finally found you!” The private blurted out without paying attention to his words in his relief. The men at the table only looked at him with surprise on their faces. 

“Calm down, boy.” Bull said around his cigar. “What is it?”

“Lieutenant Speirs, sir, he...” As if realising how panicked and unprofessional he sounded, the private turned a shade darker and straightened to stand at attention. “I mean, sorry, sir. Lieutenant Speirs sent me to find you and bring you to him, sir.”

“Did he threaten to give you a cigarette, boy, or why are you so out of it?” Bull asked with a hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned back in his chair.

“No, sir, he didn't offer me a cigarette.” The private replied with a confused frown.

“No reason to panic then, kid.” Luz added and grinned rather slyly, obviously enjoying this immensely. “If he wanted to kill you, he would have offered one.”

The private actually managed to blanch under the red of his cheeks. “He just said that if I didn't bring First Sergeant Lipton to him within the next ten minutes, he'd find a better place for me to be.”

“By the way, that wasn't a promise, but a threat.” Liebgott added casually from the other side of the table, and Lipton knew he had just as much fun messing with the poor boy's mind as Luz and Bull. 

“Yeah, that's just Speirs being Speirs.” Luz said and shrugged. Lipton noticed the way the private started to shift nervously on his feet and decided to put an end to this.

“I'm coming with you right now.” Lipton said with a glance at the private and set his mug down on the table. He stood up, took his rifle from where it rested against his chair and turned towards the door. “See you later, boys.”

“Good luck, Lip!” Luz said with a huge grin. “At least you know he doesn't kill _you_ after offering a cigarette.”

“Very funny, Luz.” Lipton replied, but he couldn't keep the smirk off his face entirely. The private next to him just looked even more panicked, so Lipton clasped his shoulder in brief reassurance and steered him out of the kitchen. Once they'd left the house, the private almost ran through the streets towards something that looked like a little inn. He led Lipton to the second floor and knocked on the door with a slightly trembling hand.

“Come in.” A voice came from inside and Lipton had no problem identifying it as Speirs'. The private opened the door and let Lipton in first, then he stood next to him. “Sir, I brought First Sergeant Lipton.”

“Ah yes, Lieutenant Lipton.” Speirs said and straightened up from where he'd been bent over a map with Nixon. Lipton had noticed that ever since Rachamps, Speirs had always referred to him by his new rank, although the official promotion hadn't come through yet. It somehow made him feel good, he liked the sound of Speirs calling him lieutenant. There was something private to it, especially because at the moment, he was the only one doing it. Consequently, the young private next to him frowned in confusion at the different addresses.

“Come over here, Lip, we need some intel from you.” Nixon said over the rim of his whiskey glass and waved Lipton over. The private remained standing where he was, unsure if he was actually allowed to leave, and Lipton saw him glancing around nervously. 

“Dismissed, private.” Speirs said without looking at the man. Lipton noticed how the boy rushed out of the door as if he couldn't leave fast enough, and he was sure there were new rumours about to be born.

Speirs joined them at the table and within minutes, they were deep in a discussion about the route for the next few days, about which towns to pass and which to avoid, about the problem of supplies and the order of the trucks. More than once Lipton felt his gaze attracted by the beautiful line of Speirs' throat that was exposed by the unbuttoned collar of his uniform shirt. He had to force himself to look away, to keep his mind focussed on the map and not on thoughts about how that skin would feel under his lips. This was becoming a problem, it started to interfere with his job, and he couldn't let that happen.

“Do you need anything else, Ron?” Nixon asked when they were through with all the important points.

“Could you leave me the maps, sir?” Speirs pointed at the mess on the table. “I want to go over them with the Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing.” Nixon shrugged and walked over to the door, only stopping when he was halfway through, handle in hand. “Just give them to me tomorrow before we leave.”

Speirs nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“See you in the morning.” Nixon threw a casual wave back over his shoulder and closed the door behind him. Lipton looked after him until the sound of boots on the floor made him turn. Speirs was back at the table, head bent, looking at one of the maps.

Lipton's eyes wandered back to the patch of exposed skin under Speirs' jaw and he felt his mouth go dry. Oh God, he was obsessed with his Lieutenant's throat, and there was no reasonable explanation for his behaviour. When he raised his gaze, he was caught by the green of Speirs' eyes focussed on him. Immediately Lipton felt heat rise into his cheeks, a blush that he knew was so fierce that it would reach all the way down his neck. Speirs didn't do anything, he just held his gaze.

Lipton found that he couldn't look away.

*** 

Ronald Speirs had always been a disciplined man. He had a quick temper and he knew it, so he usually kept it in check. But Carwood Lipton was really doing his best to make him lose control. And the worst part of it was that Speirs was sure the good Lieutenant wasn't even aware of it. 

First that embrace in Rachamps. It had given Speirs a taste of what could be, of what kind of man Lipton was. Of his sincerity, his strength, his support, his caring nature. His _decency_. Then the looks had begun. Speirs had been surprised to find them directed at him so many times, then he'd realised he only knew because he'd been looking himself. After that, Speirs had done it consciously, and it hadn't even taken a day and he'd been able to communicate with his Lieutenant-to-be by glances alone. It had intensified with every day that had passed, and Speirs found he enjoyed it, that he actually looked forward to their little exchanges. 

Then there had been the hand on his lower back. It had surprised him, he hadn't expected Lipton to be that bold. But he hadn't minded it, to the contrary, he'd enjoyed it. So he'd leaned in, giving the subtle signal that the touch was welcome. From then on, the strain on his control had grown exponentially, because every graze from Lipton's hand on his back, of his shoulder against Speirs', as innocent as it was, had made him want more. But he admitted freely that he didn't know Lipton well enough to be able to tell if it was only friendly bonding or if it was more. And Speirs was still his superior officer, it wasn't his place to initiate anything. He could be court-martialled for it if he'd misinterpreted anything. And contrary to what the rumours said, he hadn't made it a habit to shoot his men. 

So he'd held back, as long as he could. That was, until one evening in a commandeered room somewhere along the route to Haguenau, he'd looked up from the map he had wanted to go over with the Lieutenant and found the man staring at his throat with such a mesmerised look of desire on his face that Speirs felt his blood rush south instantly. When Lipton had raised his gaze and met his, Speirs could read everything in that expressive face. He'd never seen such heat in those beautiful brown eyes, and he felt the quickened beat of his own heart throb within his whole body. 

And then there was the flicker of Lipton's tongue passing over his bottom lip, either in a nervous gesture or in an attempt to wet his lips, and Speirs knew he'd reached his limits and passed beyond. He had straightened up and crossed the distance between them before he'd even thought about doing it, and then his hands had taken hold of the lapels of Lipton's uniform to pull him close. Lipton was probably as surprised by his actions as Speirs himself was, because there was no resistance and the Lieutenant's body came flush against his. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes were dark with the pupils blown wide. 

It was enough for Speirs to take the final step and claim those lips in a kiss that was more forceful than he had intended. Lipton's body went rigid under his hands, but only for a moment, then the lips under his opened, let him in. It was hesitant, and even through the haze of his desire, that was enough to make Speirs realise that Lipton was probably new to kissing another man. It made him slow down, take his time with this first encounter, with this first kiss. His hands loosened their harsh grip on the lapels of Lipton's uniform jacket and wandered up, touched his neck, caressed his jaw, buried in his hair. 

He could feel the change in the body pressed against his own, felt it melt into him even before he heard the hoarse moan that was mostly swallowed by their kiss. The tongue against his own began to return his caress, first slowly and tentatively, then it grew bolder and chased his tongue back into his own mouth, challenging him in the most satisfying way. Speirs felt hands come to rest on his shoulders, then one of them slid up to his jaw, the other down his back, closing around his waist and pulling him closer. Speirs chuckled into Lipton's mouth, positively surprised by the change in his demeanour.

As if the sound had sparked something in Lipton, something fierce, Speirs felt how he was suddenly pushed backwards until his back connected with the wall. The breath rushed out of his lungs for a moment, but before he could react in any way, Lipton's lips were back on his and a tongue entered his mouth, hard and wet and _demanding_. The hand on his waist had tightened, holding him in place while at the same time pulling him closer. With a low groan, Speirs pushed into the hard body in front of him and curled his hands around Lipton's jaw, turning his head into a better angle so that he could deepen the kiss. 

God, he wanted more than just that kiss. He craved to feel the pale skin under his fingertips, craved to make Carwood writhe with pleasure, make him lose his mind with desire. So he let his fingers find the buttons of Lipton's uniform jacket, undoing them with the practise of somebody who'd been wearing these kinds of clothes for years, never once needing to look at what he was doing. He slid his hands under the jacket and pushed it off Carwood's shoulders, not caring where it landed, and he pulled the regulation white shirt out of the fatigue pants. When his hands touched the bare skin of his stomach, Carwood shuddered in his arms, his fingers digging in Speirs' back and his mouth left Speirs' to open in a surprised groan.

“Oh my God! Sir!” His voice was deliciously breathless and made a shiver run down Speirs' back.

“Ron.” He heard himself murmur against the skin under his lips, not bothering to hide his smile. “It's Ron.”

“Don't stop, Ron.” Lipton's voice was rough, hoarse as if he was trying to reign in his emotions, or maybe not to lose himself in the pleasure, and Speirs had never heard him sound like that before. It made his blood boil, but it also reminded him of the situation they were in. They hadn't even locked the door.

“Do you know what you're doing here, Carwood?” Ron had to force himself to ask, feeling that he had to give Lipton one last way out.

“I have no idea, sir... Ron.” Carwood breathed against his neck, his tongue flickering over the skin below Ron's ear and almost making him lose the last shred of his control. Ron felt his eyes close and in an unconscious gesture he arched his head sideways to give Carwood better access to his throat. Teeth scratched over his skin, biting gently, and when Carwood spoke again, his voice was dark and throaty and just incredibly wanton. "But I don't want to stop."

Ron couldn't contain the shudder that passed through him at the sound of Carwood's voice, it felt like a caress from the inside, and he knew he wanted to hear it again. Nobody would ever believe the always upright and decent Lieutenant Carwood Lipton to be capable of such an erotic tone of voice, and Speirs enjoyed the knowledge that he was the only person who'd heard it.

“Door.” Ron growled and forced himself to let go of Carwood, who looked at him with a confused and almost hurt expression, not understanding what Speirs was doing. Ron took the few steps over to the door to turn the key, and on his way back he opened his jacket and his shirt. Carwood's gaze was focussed on his every movement, his eyes dark again, now that he'd understood that their encounter wasn't over yet. He looked beautifully debauched with his hair messed up by Ron's fingers, his lips red and swollen from their kisses, his uniform halfway undone and a patch of skin visible where his shirt rode up. Ron felt his fingers itch with the urge to touch, and he shrugged out of his own jacket and shirt as quickly as he could.

“Gosh, Car, get rid of that shirt!” Ron growled under his breath when he reached Carwood, the only thought on his mind was that he wanted to feel skin on skin, and he wanted it now. He felt that if Carwood didn't remove his clothes, Ron would just rip them off. The thought must have been written in his face, because with a smirk that was almost teasing, Carwood grabbed the hem of his shirt and his undershirt and pulled them over his head without hesitation. His dog tags rattled quietly when they fell back on his bare skin, and Ron couldn't help staring.

He hadn't actually known what he'd expected, but it had certainly not been the strongly muscled arms and the broad shoulders. Under the multiple layers of their uniforms, nothing of it showed, but now that he had Carwood's upper body stripped off all clothing, he found it strangely arousing to realise that Carwood was actually bulkier than he was. That the circle of his arms promised a strength that equalled his own. He instinctively knew he could let go of his tight control and trust Carwood to be able to take it. 

Ron felt as if he was mesmerised, and he stepped closer and reached out with his hand without it being a conscious decision. His fingers found Carwood's side, wandered over the warm skin to his stomach, up his chest and his shoulders. Then his hand buried in Carwood's hair and it was as if the spell that had kept Lipton motionless was broken, because he stepped forwards, his hands found Ron's waist and pulled him in until their bodies were touching from head to toe. His mouth came down on Ron's and he turned them around until Ron found himself pressed against the wall again, the stone cold against the bare skin of his back, and Ron's arousal grew tenfold by the demonstration of strength. He'd always been attracted to strength, and without being aware of it, Carwood gave him exactly what he wanted, what he needed.

Ron returned the kiss with no less passion, his hands touching whatever part of Carwood they could reach, and it wasn't long until his fingers had found and opened the fastenings of Carwood's fatigues. His hand slid inside and took a firm hold of the hardness, stroking along it teasingly, and Carwood suddenly let go of his lips and panted against Ron's neck, his forehead coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Ron, Ron, Ron...” His voice was low, muffled due to Carwood pressing his lips against the skin of Ron's shoulder in an attempt to keep quiet, and the sound of his name uttered with such pleasure made Ron light-headed. Carwood Lipton coming apart under his hands was one of the most exciting feelings he'd ever experienced.

Ron moved his hand a little faster, applying a bit more pressure, and he felt Carwood's breath hitched against his skin. Ron turned his head and licked along the shell of Carwood's ear, causing another shudder in the body pressed against his, then he whispered, “Touch me, Car.” 

Carwood didn't hesitate for even a moment. His fingers, quick and deft, found their way into Ron's underwear faster than he'd expected, and the firm grip of fingers around him had Ron gasp in a surge of surprised pleasure. He was pressed back against the wall by the thrusts of Carwood's hips, matching the rhythm Carwood set with his own hand on Ron's erection, and he could only let his head fall back against the wall and allow pleasure to take over. His free hand settled on Carwood's arm in an attempt to hold himself up with his knees threatening to buckle under the strain of arousal, and then there was a pain at his collarbone, sharp and intense, and it made him groan, made his vision go blurry, made his hands claw into the skin under his fingers. He came with a suddenness he hadn't expected, that took him by surprise, and the intensity of the sensation overwhelmed him. He tried to keep the moan quiet, because he knew he wasn't able to hold it back entirely, and his hips bucked under Carwood's hands. His hand closed around Carwood's hardness in reflex, and it seemed to be exactly what he'd needed, because Ron heard him groan against his neck and felt the hot wetness in his hand. 

Ron just stayed where he was, pressed against the wall by Carwood's body, and tried to calm his breathing. Carwood's head was resting on Ron's shoulder and his harsh panting was like a warm, wet caress on his skin. When he'd calmed down enough that his breathing was almost normal again, Ron found the energy to stand on his own two legs and let go of his grip on Carwood's arm. There were dark finger-shaped bruises, a sharp contrast to Carwood's fair skin, and Ron couldn't help feeling a certain kind of pride at the marks. It was vaguely mixed with a feeling of guilt for hurting Lipton, though, and he let his fingertips stroke over the bruised flesh, a ghost of a touch, a caress, an excuse. 

A claim.

He heard Carwood's low chuckle next to his ear, felt his breath on his bare shoulder. “You enjoyed marking me, didn't you?”

Ron just smirked.

 

***

 

“Here.” Nixon threw the scarf at Speirs who caught it effortlessly, only to look at Lewis with a quizzically raised eyebrow, the always present cigarette dangling from his lips.

“I'm not cold, Nix.” he said, his voice quiet in the approaching darkness of the early evening.

“I know.” Lewis replied and sat down next to him on what had remained of the wall that had once separated two rooms, already searching for his own cigarettes. When he had lit one, he looked up and gestured with his hand at his neck, a smirk on his lips. “But you might want to cover that up.” 

Speirs just frowned. “Cover what up?”

Nix touched his finger to his own neck, right above his collarbone. “Lip's little message.”

Speirs hand flew up to cover the spot Nixon had indicated, growling a curse under his breath.

“I never pegged him for a biter.” Nixon said with a grin and watched how Speirs quickly wrapped the scarf around his neck. He held out his flask, the smirk still on his face, and after a moment of staring at him almost suspiciously, Speirs accepted it.

Nixon chuckled and blew out a blue cloud of smoke. “Yeah, yeah, it's always the quiet ones.”


	3. Of Care and Concern (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Speirs always takes care of his men. Or: How Lipton got multiple blankets.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

“He's still asleep?”

Luz's head jerked up from the cards on the table, his gaze flickering over to the source of the voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malarkey do the same. “Yes, sir. At least he was when I checked on him about half an hour ago.”

Captain Speirs stood in the doorway to the living room of their current accommodation – it wasn't anything great, really, there were bomb holes in some of the walls – and he had a frown on his face that made him look even darker than he usually did. Or maybe it was just that scary because Lip wasn't there to interfere should the Captain get into one of his moods. 

“How was he?” 

“Still pretty much out of it, sir.” Luz replied and wondered how the man managed to look so intimidating when he didn't even raise his voice – or his weapon – and had a bundle of blankets in his arms. “Doc came by and gave him something against the fever.”

“I'm going to check on him.” Speirs said and gave a nod before he disappeared through the door, his footsteps quiet on the stairs. Luz just stared after his CO. Who'd had another blanket in his hands. Again. Sometimes he couldn't help wondering how – and where – Speirs always managed to find blankets, be it in the middle of a destroyed town or out in the open. The man most certainly had a talent for looting.

Luz looked over at Malarkey who turned his head from where he, too, had been staring after the retreating form of the Captain, and slowly shook his head in astonishment. He'd never expected Speirs to really care for anybody, but here he was, looting blankets to make sure Lip was warm and comfortable. And that he drank enough and ate enough and got whatever medicine the Captain could find. 

Or steal, Luz wasn't entirely sure about _how_ he got it. But he remembered the large bottle of some dark liquid – probably alcoholic – that Speirs had brought back two days ago. And the steaming cup of some strange-smelling brew that he had carried over from the old lady down the street this morning. Not to mention the blankets, of course. 

A Speirs mother hen. Kind of a scary thought. But then, maybe Lip was indeed rubbing off on the Captain, like some of the men had joked. Not that this intense degree of Speirs' care extended to anybody other than Lip.

Luz let out the breath he'd not been aware he'd been holding. “Scary.” 

Malarkey just nodded.

*** 

The weight was heavy in his hands. Speirs stood at the top landing of the stairs, looking down at the fabric in his hands and frowned. He'd seen the looks Luz and Malarkey had given him, the mixture of astonished, surprised and scared. It had only taken him a moment to get what had caused the look. 

The blankets.

It wasn't as if he did it consciously, Speirs mused. It was more something like a reflex, something he didn't realise he'd done until he was spreading the next blanket over Lipton's shivering form. Like now. He had one blanket under his arm, another in his hand. They were good blankets, one made of thick wool and the other with actual down inside, according to the way it felt in his hands. They weren't pristine any more, but they would do a good job at keeping Lipton warm. 

And that was the most important thing. To make sure that Lipton got back on his feet, that the pneumonia didn't get the better of him. He was important to Easy, he was the one who kept the company running, even if he wasn't aware of it. They couldn't afford to lose him.

Speirs shook his head as if he was trying to get rid of the thought, then he opened the door as silently as he could and entered. He closed the door behind him to keep what little warmth there was in the room. The house they were in wasn't in a good condition, this was the only room that had no holes in the outer walls - but the chill of the cold outside still managed to creep inside. Maybe tomorrow's accommodation would be better. At least he hoped so. 

The room must have been a study at some point since there was no bed, only a long couch between the remains of multiple bookshelves. He'd made Lipton lie down there when they'd arrived and then he had ordered Luz to make sure he actually stayed there – just like he'd done every time there was a house to commandeer. There'd only been Lipton's rough, dirty army issued wool blanket when Speirs had left. Now, there was another one, equally dirty, and he guessed it was Luz's. 

With quiet steps Speirs walked over to the couch where he could see Lipton shiver under the blankets, his whole body shaking from within. When he stopped next to Lipton's head, he saw that his eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep. His face was twisted in pain, his breathing was ragged and low, as if it hurt so much that he tried not to breathe more than strictly necessary. It didn't sound good, Speirs didn't have to be a medic to know that.

Later tonight, when he would settle down to sleep, he would lie down behind Lipton again, like they'd done for the past week, and he'd share whatever heat his body could provide. And when the coughs got too bad and made Lipton curl in on himself, made his body shake with the effort, Speirs would be there to rub his back until the fit passed, and hold him when the exhaustion that always followed would made Lipton's body sag. There was nothing else he could do, and that was the worst about it. 

With a gesture that had already become routine, Speirs shook out the blankets and draped them over Lipton's curled up body, taking care to tug them in around him.

_He_ couldn't afford to lose him. 

*** 

It was cold. So incredibly cold. He felt the tremors run through his body, shaking him in a fruitless attempt to keep warm. His chest burned, every breath felt as if liquid fire ran through his nose, his mouth, his chest. He couldn't get enough air into his lungs, yet he tried, but there was so much pain. Maybe if he stopped breathing, then the fire would stop moving. But he was still so cold. 

He heard footsteps, almost quiet on the carpet. They stopped in front of him, then there was nothing, only silence. After a moment, a weight settled on top of him, spread all over his body. Then another weight. Somebody pulled on it, close to his feet, around his hips, his shoulders. He was warmer, even if only a bit. 

He felt a hand on his forehead, then it moved over his face, passed over his brow, caressed his cheek. “How do you feel?” 

Lipton smiled, not bothering to open his eyes. He already knew who it was. “'m fine, Ron.”

“Sleep, Carwood.” The quiet voice said, its timbre low and a little rough, and it weaved around him like a caress. There was the soft, warm press of lips on his temple and he smiled, leaned into the gentle touch that felt so good. “Sleep and get better.”

He never considered not following the gentle order.


	4. Of Worry and Hope (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lipton is not getting better. Or: Doc Roe watches and worries.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

It was dark, past midnight, he guessed, and the wind was harsh, blowing through every crack. And there were more than enough of those in every building. Along with the bomb holes, the bullet marks and the shattered windows. It was never really warm.

And that worried him. With a frown on his face, eyes narrowed and the collar pulled up against the wind, Doc Roe made his way from the truck, where he'd applied a new bandage to Babe's hand, over to the house that Captain Speirs had commandeered for the night. He was sure Lipton would be set up as warm and cozy as possible, but that didn't mean that it was enough. Especially since there wasn't much possible under these circumstances. 

Eugene tried to suppress a sigh. He would really feel better if the Lieutenant went to the hospital, or at least to the aid station, where he'd be warm and receive proper care. Because Gene couldn't provide that, not here in the field, not with them moving to a new place every day, spending hours on the trucks, exposed to the wind and the weather. And it hadn't done Lipton any good, his condition had only worsened with every day that passed. 

When he reached the house, he ducked inside and was relieved to be out of the wind. He looked around and saw Luz coming out of one of the rooms, his movements slow with sleep, his hair standing up in wild angles.

“Hey, Luz!” Gene whispered more than he called, yet he managed to catch the other man's attention. “Where's Lipton set up?”

“Captain had him stationed in the back.” Luz replied and pointed behind himself. “There's even a couch – the only piece of furniture that isn't entirely broken.”

“Thanks.” Gene nodded and walked in the direction Luz had indicated. It wasn't too difficult to spot the room, because although the door was closed against the drafts, there was light shining through underneath it. Eugene knocked once, then he stepped in and froze in the doorway.

He had never walked in on the Captain sleeping before. 

He must have been exhausted beyond his limits if he didn't even wake puon Gene entering the room. He was leaning with his back against the foot of the couch that Lipton was laying on, his head had fallen to one side and he looked exhausted even in sleep. They all did, Gene mused, but there was something on the Captain's face that was different from the rest of the men. It took Gene a moment, then it hit him. 

Worry. There was a bone deep wariness about the Captain, and he suddenly understood that it was the constant worry that one morning, Lipton wouldn't wake up. And it wasn't just paranoia, they all knew it could happen every time Lipton fell asleep. He was weakened considerably by his pneumonia, it had been going on for so long that it had started drawing on his reserves. Not that there was much left over to draw on after Bastogne. Eugene worried about that, too.

As did the rest of the men, though they kept it quiet. It was as if they all heard Lipton in their head, telling them it wouldn't do anybody any good if they allowed their worry to eat at them. That they had to keep focussed. But from time to time, when Gene passed a fire or a truck on his almost silent rounds of checking on the men, he heard them talking, quietly, under their breaths. Never aloud, never more than a whisper. As if they considered it a bad omen to actually voice what they all thought. And maybe it was.

Eugene silently closed the door behind him and walked over to the bed, careful to keep his steps quiet. The Captain needed the rest almost as badly as Lipton did. With motions that had long since become second nature, Gene checked on Lipton, then he retreated as silently as he had come in. 

Just like the shadow he had learned to become.

*** 

Haguenau was only a little bit better than being on the road. At least there were houses, although they were all damaged to some degree. And there were supplies. But nothing Eugene had given Lipton had really helped, nothing had broken the fever that had been ravaging his body for far too long. So when Gene had found a stash of herbs in an abandoned kitchen, rare herbs he hadn't expected to find in the middle of a war, he'd spent the next few hours going through every house until he had gathered all the ingredients he needed. He decided to risk it and approach the Captain with another method to heal Lipton than the medicine the army had to offer.

With the steaming mug in his hands, Eugene entered the house the Captain had claimed, and made his way up to the first floor. He knocked on the door and entered, just like he had done countless times before. He found the Captain sitting at the table, cleaning his gun, and Lipton was lying in the bed in the corner of the room, fast asleep.

“I brought something, sir.” Gene said and held out the metallic mug he had cupped between his hands. It was as much about keeping the brew warm as it was about enjoying the heat that soaked through the metal.

“What is it?” The Captain asked, the frown like a constant fixture on his face, and he slowly put down his gun.

“A concoction my grandmother taught me, sir.” Gene replied and wondered how the Captain was going to react to that. He found the man difficult to read. “I know it's not army approved, sir, but I think we have to try something else. We have to break that fever.”

The Captain nodded after a moment. “All right, go ahead.”

Gene was marginally surprised by the easy acceptance of his suggestion. He had expected more questions about his medicine, about how sure he was that it would do some good. But the Captain didn't say anything else, just stood up and waited for Gene to get to work.

It was only then that Eugene realised that the Captain actually trusted him with this. Trusted him with Lipton. It was a strange feeling, and he tried to push it out of his mind when he made his way over to the bed Lipton lay in. It was an actual bed this time, and there were at least four blankets spread over Lipton's sleeping form. Gene hid a smirk. God only knew where the Captain always got those.

“We have to get him awake, sir, so that he can drink this.” Eugene said before he carefully set the mug aside.

The Captain nodded and came closer, taking hold of Lipton's shoulders and forcing the boneless body to sit up. Then he sat down on the bed behind him and supported Lipton's weight to keep him upright while Gene shook the Lieutenant's shoulder in an attempt to get him to open his eyes. 

“Come on, Lieutenant, wake up.” Gene said rather loudly, but Lipton just groaned and moved his head from side to side. He only woke when Gene gently slapped his cheeks, but there was no recognition in his eyes. They were glazed over with fever, and Eugene was sure Lipton wasn't really with them. 

Gene quickly bent down to retrieve the mug. He wanted to use the few moments Lipton was awake to have him drink the concoction. 

“I need you to drink this, Lieutenant. All of it.” Gene said while he brought the mug to Lipton's lips and slowly made him swallow gulp after gulp until the metal cup was empty. It took a long time and Gene was surprised how patient the Captain was, never saying a word, quietly holding Lipton upright and waiting for him to drink the whole medicine. Afterwards, they settled the Lieutenant back down and he was out before his head had even touched the pillow.

Eugene stood up and rearranged his bag. “I'll be back around dawn, sir. If there's anything, like his fever rising, call me immediately.” 

The Captain just nodded, not sparing him a glance, and Gene left the room to find a place where he could sleep for a few hours. He didn't bother to leave the house, he just entered the room where Luz, Malarkey, Liebgott and Babe had taken the mostly broken beds and lay down on the floor close to the entrance. He never knew how quickly he might have to leave if somebody called for him.

It was barely after dawn when Eugene knocked on the door to the room that had become Lipton's and slipped in. The Captain was still sitting where Gene had left him a few hours ago, but his back wasn't as rigid any more.

“Sir?”

“I think your brew worked.” The Captain said without looking up from Lipton's pale face. 

Gene approached the bed, his hands flying into action without him giving it a second thought. It had become part of his nature. He checked pulse and temperature, and couldn't help a small smile when the skin under his fingers didn't burn any more. Lipton shifted under his hands, letting out a tiny noise that sounded distinctly pained, but then his eyes fluttered open. They weren't entirely clear, but the pupils weren't blown any more and he seemed to be coherent. 

“Doc?” His voice was rough, barely more than a hoarse whisper.

“Good to have you back, Lipton.” Eugene said with a little smile, keeping his voice low and soothing. 

Lipton's eyes wandered over his surroundings, as if he was trying to understand where he was. Then they focussed on something behind Gene, and Gene instinctively knew it was the Captain. Lipton's gaze said things Gene didn't need to understand to know what they meant, and then there was a small smile on Lipton's lips before his eyes began to flutter again, as if he'd used up his bout of energy.

“It's all right, Lipton.” Eugene said and touched Lipton's shoulder in reassurance. “You need much rest. Go back to sleep.”

Lipton nodded, only a minuscule movement of his head, then his eyes closed again and his breath, although it was still ragged, evened out. Eugene couldn't remember when he had last felt such a bone deep relief. He turned to look at the Captain and then he did something he had long since learned to forgo.

He gave hope. “He will live, sir.” 

He'd never expected to see Captain Speirs smile, yet here it was, a tiny uplifting of his lips, a slow, almost hesitant shine in his eyes. It was worth more than all the riches in the world. 

“Thanks, Doc.” His voice was rough and almost silent, but more sincere than Eugene had ever heard it.

Gene nodded, slowly, before he turned back to Lipton, tucking the blanket around him. Then he stood. His work here was done. For now.

“Captain.” Eugene saw Speirs nod in permission for him to leave and he made his way over to the door, closing it quietly behind him. When he stepped out of the house, the wind didn't seem to be as harsh as it had been at his arrival and he felt warmer than he had in a long time.

Maybe there still was hope, Eugene mused, tugging his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and he turned his face towards the first light of the day. And maybe giving hope was what his job was really about. 

Even if sometimes, it lasted only for a moment.


	5. Of Coughs and Blankets (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winters checks on the pneumonia-ridden Lipton. Or: How Speirs and Lipton are found out.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

“How is Sergeant Lipton?” Dick Winters asked when he entered the house they had commandeered for the night.

Luz looked up from where he was sitting with the radio in front of him, several pieces of it spread out on the table. “Still burning, sir.”

Dick nodded, a worried pull around his mouth. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs, sir.” Luz replied and pointed his screwdriver in the direction of the stairs. “Captain Speirs set him up in the warmest room of the house. Said it would do him good.”

“Thank you, Luz.” Dick turned towards the stairs and made his way up to check up on the pneumonia ridden First Sergeant. There was an actual fireplace in the room, a fire burning inside and heating up the air enough that Dick felt comfortably warm for the first time in ages. Lipton lay on the double bed on the other side of the room, huddled up under a ridiculous amount of blankets, obviously asleep. His ragged, laboured breathing was almost loud in the silence of the room. 

Dick walked over slowly, taking in the pained expression Lipton's face retained even in sleep. He placed his hand on Lipton's forehead and couldn't help a worried frown at the heat he felt under his fingers. Luz' description of “burning” was indeed quite accurate.

Lipton began stirring under the touch, turning into it without opening his eyes. “'m fine, Ron.” 

His voice was low and rough from sleep, and then a smile spread over his face that was so soft that Dick felt uncomfortable witnessing it. It felt like something private, something intimate that he had no right to see.

“Lipton?” At the sound of Dick's voice, Lipton's eyes flew open and he bolted upright. He had just about a second before a cough ripped through him, shaking his whole body until he was hunched over, curling in on himself as if to ward off the pain. Winters let his hand rub over Lipton's back in quiet reassurance and waited for the fit to finish, knowing there was nothing he could do to help.

The moment he could breath again, Lipton tensed and sat up straighter. “Sir...” He coughed again to clear his throat when nothing more than a hoarse rush of air came out. “I'm sorry, sir, I didn't...”

“Don't worry, Lip.” Dick said with a reassuring smile, deliberately using his nickname to show that he wasn't talking as his superior officer right now. 

“Sir?”

“I'm only here to see how you are doing.” 

“I'll live, sir.” Lipton replied and Dick watched his hands nervously flatten a corner of one of his multiple blankets. For a moment, Dick wondered if Speirs had looted them as he usually only did with silver and other valuables. 

“That's good to hear.” Dick said and nodded at the blankets. “I see Captain Speirs is taking good care of you.”

“Yes, sir, he is.” Dick thought there was a hint of a blush on Lipton's cheeks, but it could also have been a result of the coughing. “As are the rest of the men. Actually, they are spoiling me.”

“You deserve it.” Dick said and meant it. “We all want to see you back on your feet, so enjoy getting spoiled as long as it lasts.”

Lipton chuckled. “I will, sir.”

Dick walked back towards the door, and when he had put his hand on the handle, he turned back. “Oh, and Lipton?”

“Yes, sir?”

“You might want to be more careful with his first name.” Dick couldn't help remarking, a gentle but teasing smile on his lips. “Since there are not even a handful of people who actually dare to use it, it's a dead giveaway.” 

Another round of rough coughing came from the bed, and although the room was half dark with the approaching dusk, it wasn't difficult to spot the blush that spread over Lipton's cheeks and all the way down his neck. 

Dick knew it had nothing to do with the coughing.


	6. Of Warmth and Water (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After days of fever and sickness, Lipton wants to clean up. Or: How Speirs and Lipton shared a shower.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

When Lipton woke, it was dark around him. It took him a moment to make sure that he had indeed opened his eyes, and it was only the light coming from the fireplace that convinced him that he wasn't asleep anymore. He turned carefully, moving slowly as not to upset his head. The curtains, torn and tattered as they were, had been closed. Through the holes in the fabric he could see faint light outside, and it told him that it was either dusk or dawn.

He'd been asleep for so long that he'd lost track of time, only awake for a few moments here and there. But now he felt better, remarkably better, actually. The last thing he remembered was seeing Doc Roe perched over him. If he wasn't mistaken, Ron had been behind him, that soft smile on his lips that always made Carwood feel special. When he looked around now, though, the room was empty. It made him assume that it was dusk and that duty was demanding Ron's presence. He remembered the feeling of a warm body at his back, pressing against him under layers of blankets and making him feel safe. He could only guess that it had been Ron sleeping next to him in the narrow bed. The thought made him smile. He always enjoyed it when Ron showed that he cared, showed it in his very own way, without ever saying a word.

Lipton slowly sat up in the bed, relieved that the world stayed horizontal and didn't tilt from one side to the other like it had done the last time he'd tried to sit up. He took his time, well aware that he felt better than he probably was. It wouldn't do for Ron to find him passed out on the floor because he'd overdone it.

He pulled the blanket back to have a look at his uniform, still black from the dirt of Bastogne and stained with sweat and blood. He couldn't suppress the desire to take it off, get a bath and put on fresh, clean clothes. He felt as if he was spoiling the sheets, but he'd probably already done that over the past few days and there was little left to spoil. 

“I need a shower.” Carwood murmured to himself and passed a hand over his cheek. “And a shave.”

Just as he was thinking about getting up and trying to clean up, he heard footsteps in the hallway right before the door was pushed open. Ron stopped in the doorframe, handle still between his fingers, and stared at him. It seemed to take him a moment to recover, then a little smile spread over his face and he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

"You're awake." He said quietly, and Carwood thought he heard something like relief in his voice. "How are you?"

“I feel fine, compared to the last time I remember being awake.” Carwood replied and wondered when that had actually been. “How long was I out?”

“Three days.” Ron watched him, still standing by the door. “You seem much better now.”

“I think I am. But I feel filthy and sweaty.” Carwood wrinkled his nose. “And although I can't really smell much, I know that I stink. I need a bath.”

Ron chuckled. “Let's just say that it wouldn't do any harm.”

“It will have to wait another day, I fear. I'm not up for the communal showers.” Carwood admitted quietly, his cheeks slightly red. “I don't think I have the strength to stay upright for ten minutes, never mind stripping in the cold.”

“Who said I would let a sick man use the communal showers?” Ron smirked. “Doc Roe would never forgive me if I let you fall ill again after all the trouble he went through to break your fever.”

Carwood frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Ron walked towards him and stopped right in front of the bed, his gaze wandering over Carwood's face and body as if he was trying to see for himself that he was fine. "He made you some brew – don't ask me what was in it – and it worked better than anything the army has to offer. We fed it to you three times. The first dose alone managed to break the worst of your fever." 

"I think I owe him a thank you." Carwood said more to himself than to Ron. He'd always known that Easy was incredibly lucky to have Eugene Roe as a medic.

"Yeah, you do. But first, let's get you cleaned up.” Ron offered a hand to pull Carwood off the bed. “The officers use the private showers, those that still work at least. This house happens to have one of them.”

Carwood hid a smirk. He knew that the functioning bathroom was probably the reason Ron had commandeered this house in the first place. He took Ron's hand and accepted the help getting up. He felt unsteady on his feet and was grateful for the support, for the hand that came to rest on his back, stabilising him. "Are you all right to stand on your own for a moment?"

Carwood nodded and Ron let go of him, slowly, as if he didn't trust him to remain upright. When Carwood didn't sway, he went over to his footlocker and opened it.

"Do you still have a fresh uniform?" Ron asked while reaching for something inside the wooden box and coming up with a new bar of soap.

"At the bottom of my duffel bag." Carwood replied and nodded towards the foot of the bed. Ron just grabbed the whole bag and threw it over his shoulder, then he came back to Carwood and took hold of his elbow.

"Come on, let's get to the bathroom." he said and guided Carwood out of the room and down the hallway. They passed the stairs and stopped at a door at the other end of the hallway. Ron pushed it open and gestured for Carwood to get inside. There was a tub in the little room, complete with gilded claw feet and a separate shower head. For a moment Carwood couldn't help wondering if Ron had checked the houses to find one with an actual bathroom. The former inhabitants must have been quite wealthy people to have owned such luxury, and right now Carwood was grateful that Ron had chosen precisely this house.

The door closed behind him and then came the unmistakable sound of the key turning in the lock. Carwood turned around and found Ron at the door, sorting through the duffel bag and pulling out the different pieces of Carwood's uniform, setting them neatly on the low stool next to the washbasin. Carwood watched him almost dumbfounded, his mind not following. He'd expected Ron to show him the bathroom and then leave him to clean up. Instead, Ron stood up once he was done with the duffel bag and walked over to the tub, opening the taps and feeling the temperature, letting the water warm up. Then he came over and began to open Carwood's stained uniform jacket without the slightest hesitation.

Carwood was surprised for a moment, too stunned to react in any way. He just stood in the middle of the bathroom and felt Ron pushing off his jacket, then his shirt and his undershirt. He moved with the casual efficiency typical for most men in the army, his fingers quick and deft, his eyes focussed on his task. He had Carwood undressed within a minute and shed his own clothes even quicker and folded them on the stool on top of Carwood's fresh uniform. Carwood wasn't able to keep the blush from rising on his cheeks while watching him, feeling that undressing and bathing together was a strangely intimate action.

Ron checked the water, then made Carwood get in the tub and followed him, pushing him under the spray of the shower head. Only a second later Ron stepped close and pressed against his back, skin against skin from shoulder to leg, one arm wrapped tightly around Carwood's waist, gently supporting him. For a moment Carwood stiffened at the sudden touch, but he quickly relaxed back into the firm embrace, his head falling onto Ron's shoulder. His cheek rested against Ron's, the slight stubble rough against his skin. His eyes were closed, the warm water pouring down over his body. Ron was a reassuring presence at his back, and it made Cardwood feel comfortable and safe, made him wish that he never had to leave again. It was his very own piece of heaven, right here in the middle of war-torn Haguenau.

After a moment Ron let go of him and his hands came up with the soap in his fingers. He lathered Carwood's hair, his fingers tender and gentle in a way that had Carwood sigh under his breath, entrusting himself entirely to Ron's care. The fresh scent of the soap filled his nose, replacing the smell of sweat and dirt and sickness that had clung to him for the past few days, and it immediately made him feel better. Ron took his time, his hands passing over every inch of skin with the soap firmly in his grip, washing and cleaning him with a concentration and thoroughness that made Carwood smile. His touch wasn't meant to arouse, it was meant to comfort, to clean, and every graze of skin, every swipe of soap and fingers passing over his body relaxed Carwood even further. He couldn't remember anybody ever taking care of him like that and he leaned into the touch, unable to resist the comfort it offered.

Ron raised the shower head and washed the soap out of Carwood's hair, off his body, never ceasing the gentle touches and the calming caresses. Then he quickly washed himself before he turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. He passed a towel over his hair before he wrapped it around his hips and reached for a second one.

“Come here.” Ron ordered him quietly, holding a rather large towel in his outstretched hands. Carwood stepped into it, Ron's arms closing around him, the surprisingly soft cloth wrapping around him in a gentle embrace. Carwood just leaned in, taking pleasure in the safe cocoon of Ron's arms and allowing himself to give in to his exhaustion. He'd been sick for so long that he no longer knew how it felt to be comfortable in his own body, without aches and pains. In this moment though, finally clean again, relaxed from the warm water and cuddled up against Ron, he remembered what it was like.

“Thank you.” Carwood murmured against Ron's neck, his eyes closed, breathing in to catch Ron's clean scent. There was no reply, but Carwood felt the soft press of lips on his temple, the arms around him tightening ever so slightly.

“Let's get you dressed and then back to bed.” Ron said quietly, and Carwood could hear the silent smile in his voice. “You need a lot of rest. Doc told me to take care of that.” 

“I still have to shave.” Carwood remembered, not bothering to either move or open his eyes.

“All in its proper time, Car.” Ron replied, his hands passing over the cloth in an attempt to rub him dry. “Now it's time for you to rest. I'll give you a shave in the morning.”

Carwood just nodded, too comfortable to do anything but stay right there in Ron's arms. He'd never thought that somebody taking care of him would be so addictive. He felt relaxed and although his throat was still raw and his head was hurting faintly, he couldn't remember a time when he'd been better. 

Ron chuckled quietly, his hands had stopped rubbing and lay still on Carwood's back. “We have to move at some point, Car.”

“I know.” Carwood's words were barely audible, his nose buried against Ron's neck, his lips close to the skin. He smelled so good, clean, like his soap – it wasn't the army issued soap – and there was something else that had already been imprinted on Carwood's memory, the scent he defined as 'Ron'. He loved to smell it when he was close to him, when they lay together at night, dressed in their warmest clothes and buried under as many blankets as they had in order to stay warm. It was always there, this scent, a faint note, and to Carwood it meant things he didn't dare to put in words, not even in his mind.

Ron's hand came up and passed through Carwood's wet hair. “Come on now, Car. It's getting cold, and I don't want your pneumonia to come back.”

Reluctantly, Carwood stepped back. Ron let go of him to rub himself dry and Carwood followed his example, though he moved slower. He felt the exhaustion creep back into his bones, and the thought of getting back into bed was suddenly very tempting. He accepted the clothes Ron handed over, dressing in silence. It took only a few minutes, then he was wrapped up in the many layers of his uniform right down to the jacket and the boots. Ron opened the door after listening for a moment, then he indicated for Carwood to go back to their room. He followed a moment later with the duffel bag slung over his shoulder and Carwood's dirty uniform in his hands, folded neatly into a small stack. He locked the door to their room behind him before he set the bag and the pile of clothes down on the floor.

“Get into bed, Car.” Ron's words were almost an order, and Carwood obeyed and sat down on the mattress. He wished he could change the sheets, but there weren't any new ones so they would have to do. His whole body felt heavy with exhaustion. Carwood gave in to the urge to lie down and close his eyes, not bothering to remove his boots. He curled up on his side and pulled the blankets over himself in an attempt to keep warm. 

He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he felt the mattress dip behind him, then the blankets were lifted and a body pressed against his back. Ron's arm wrapped around his waist in a firm grip and pulled him closer, and Carwood relaxed into his warmth. He was already half asleep when he felt Ron's lips on his neck, a chaste, lingering touch against his skin, and when he heard Ron breathe out it was shaky. Ron's arm around his waist tightened, his hand clenching into a fist in the fabric of the uniform jacket, and Carwood felt how he buried his nose in the hair at the nape of his neck.

It took Carwood's sleepy mind a moment to process his actions, but then he understood. He lay quietly for a long time, wondering what had happened during these past few days. He didn't remember much himself, only delusional fever dreams that mingled with reality to such a degree that he couldn't tell them apart. There were bits of the men, of Doc Roe, of Ron. There was heat and cold, pain and violent coughing and fire in his lungs. He'd been pretty out of it, and it occurred to him only now that it might have been worse than he'd thought.

"How bad was it?" Carwood finally asked, his voice no more than a whisper in the darkness. Ron didn't reply, he just let out a slow breath and tightened his grip even more.

"Bad." He murmured after a long time, and Carwood felt his warm breath on his skin more than he heard the actual word. It made him shiver with the realisation that he must have come pretty close if he'd managed to unsettle Ron. He wasn't shaken easily, but Carwood had noticed the bags under Ron's eyes, had noticed the looks Ron had thrown him when he'd thought that Carwood wasn't looking. He'd attributed it to the general strain of war, not to his sickness, but now that he thought about it, war had never been able to wear Ron down this much before. 

Carwood knew there were no words to make things better, to offer comfort, so he pressed against the firm body in his back and settled his hand over Ron's, easing his clenched fingers out of Carwood's jacket to entwine them with his own. Ron didn't say a word, but his fingers slid between Carwood's immediately, his grip just as tight as it had been on the fabric of the uniform.

“Sleep, Car.” he murmured against Carwood's neck, the same silent order Carwood remembered from his feverish dreams. 

He followed it, just as he had done then.


	7. Of Friends and Family (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Easy boys are like family. Or: Malarkey and Luz talk about Mama Lip and Papa Speirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was inspired by a comment from hanseatic_keks, and suddenly I had the whole Malarkey-Luz-conversation in my head.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Luz put the box on the counter and huffed out a long breath. That had been the last one for today. Now he just had to get through all that stuff and get it to whoever was supposed to get what. Well, Haguenau wasn't that bad, he decided. It had been a while since he'd had to distribute anything. Bastogne hadn't exactly been a time of luxuries.

Through the door, he could see Malarkey sitting at the only table in the living room, a cigarette between his fingers. It looked as if he'd just lit it. “Hey Malark! Mind if I join you?”

Malarkey just raised an eyebrow. “You only want to get some of my smoke.”

“Ah, darn, you just know me too well.” Luz replied and grinned, crossing the room towards his friend.

“All right, all right.” Malarkey chuckled and held out his cigarette. “Come on and sit down already.”

Luz didn't need to be told twice. He took the offered smoke and sat down on the only other chair. “You're an angel.”

A snort. “With smokes.”

“That's part of what makes you an angel, man.” Luz grinned again and handed the Lucky Strike back.

“You're so easy, Luz.”

“I know.”

“I had that smoke lit for over a minute. What took you so long to get over here?” Malarkey asked before handing the cigarette across the table once again.

“I was bringing in all those supply boxes.” Luz waved his hand in the general direction of the door. “You could have helped me, by the way.”

“Nah, I don't want to steal your work.” Malark smirked and took the smoke back. “Might make you look lazy.“

“Thanks, man, I really appreciate your concern.” Luz snorted and glanced over at the supplies he was supposed to distribute. “I'm really glad we have Lip.”

“And why's that?” Malarkey asked through the Lucky Strike dangling from the corner of his mouth, clearly surprised at the change of topic.

“You should see the other companies.” Luz gestured at the bags and boxes. “Lip's pretty good at getting us what he thinks we need. Even sick he's still very efficient.”

Malarkey gave him a smirk and offered the cigarette again. “True enough. If I saw correctly, we even have Hershey's thanks to Mama Lip.”

“Yup, he's the best Mama any company could wish for.”

“Hmm.” Malarkey pursed his lips as if he was deep in thought. “If Lip's the Mama, who's the Papa, then?” 

Luz didn't even have to think about that one. “Speirs, of course.”

“Are you mad? Speirs?” Malark looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. Or sprouted a second head.

“Sure.” Luz replied and dragged on the cigarette. “Just watch them together. I mean, they're almost like Winters and Nixon.”

“Nah, Winters and Nixon are already an old married couple. Nobody's quite like them.” Malarkey replied and shrugged. “Takes years to get to that stage. Speirs has just been with us for a few weeks, though.”

“True enough.” Luz had to agree. Winters and Nixon were really something else. In a way.

“Why do we need a Papa, anyway?” Malarkey mused and lit a new cigarette, kindly leaving Luz the rest of the old one. “Easy's fine with just a Mama.”

“But somebody has to take care of the Mama.” Luz responded with utter certainty in his voice. 

“And why's that?” Malark asked, his eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Because she wouldn't do it. She'd always take care of everybody else, but never enough of herself.” Luz shrugged. “Exactly like Lip. He's always taking care of us, every single one of us. But I don't think he takes enough care of himself.” 

As if on cue, through the window, they saw Lipton leave their house, more stumbling than walking, but still looking like a man with a mission. Luz couldn't help snorting. “Just look at him. He's sick to the bones and is still trying to get things done. For all it's worth, he should be in hospital. Or at least at the aid station.”

Malarkey nodded, watching the Second Lieutenant trying to cross the street. “He won't go, though. Even Speirs didn't manage to make him leave.”

“Exactly. Because he won't abandon us.” Luz grinned, satisfied that he'd made his point. “Just like your Mama. Always there for you.”

“So, who's taking care of him?” Malarkey seemed to get what he was trying to point out.

“ _We_ sure as hell aren't.” Luz said and couldn't help feeling vaguely guilty while watching Lipton through the window. Before Lip had even managed to get to the middle of the street, a figure walked straight towards him, every step speaking of barely suppressed anger. There was only one person Luz had ever known who could walk so straight and still look so dangerous. Speirs stopped right in front of Lip and the Lieutenant immediately stood at attention, but even from their rather distant point of view, Luz and Malarkey could see the tremors that ran through his body. 

“Hospital, I tell you.” Luz remarked, more to himself than Malarkey. God knew how many times in the past weeks he'd tried to get Lip to accept that a few days at the aid station would do him good. But even sick, Lip was stubborn as hell.

Speirs said something to Lip, and although Luz couldn't hear a word, it was clear from the Captain's body language that the he wasn't pleased. Speirs talked some more and then Luz saw the Lip flinch. Luz frowned. He had never seen Lip intimidated by Speirs and it was strange to see it now. Suddenly, Lip doubled over with a cough fit that was loud enough to be heard even inside the house. Luz watched how Speirs' whole attitude changed immediately, how the anger seemed to be forgotten in favour of supporting Lipton, how his hands took hold of the Lip's waist and struggled to keep him from sinking down. 

It took a while until the coughing died down and Lip got back on his feet. He nodded to something Speirs said, then the Captain pulled Lip's arm around his neck and wrapped his own arm around Lip's waist, more carrying than guiding the Lieutenant back into the house.

“Maybe you're right.” Malarkey shook his head in bewilderment, cigarette forgotten in his hand. “They really are Mama Lip and Papa Speirs.”

*** 

He'd barely made it to the middle of the street when he saw Captain Speirs' straight-backed figure approach him with all the finesse of an angry stallion. Carwood barely managed to suppress a groan. He'd hoped to get at least something done before getting caught.

“What the hell are you doing, Lieutenant?” Ron's voice was angry, his expression seemingly cold, but Carwood had no problem seeing the fire in those eyes now that he knew how to read them. He straightened, trying to stand at attention, but he couldn't suppress the shivers that ran through his whole body. He knew Ron would see them, but he couldn't help it. 

“I have to talk to the supply officer about more blankets for the men, sir. Several don't even have....”

“I told you to stay in bed, Lieutenant.” Ron interrupted, his brows pulled together, an angry line between them. “In fact, I remember _ordering_ you to not get up, except for going to the bathroom.”

“But it's my job to take care that the men...”

“And what makes you think that you're doing a good job when you're ruining your own health in the process?” Carwood could see that Ron was truly angry, not just in one of his moods. There was real, profound anger, and Carwood didn't entirely understand why. “You're not helping anybody if you die of pneumonia because you didn't rest when you could have.”

Ron's words weren't cold, no, they were silent but spiked with barely suppressed fury. They made Carwood flinch. 

“I agreed to keep you with us and not have you stay at the hospital because I know how much it means to you.” Ron went on, voice still low but no less heated. “Don't make me regret it, Car.”

“I didn't mean to...”

“Just go back to bed. I'm going to talk to supplies and take care of the blankets.” Ron interrupted his attempt at an explanation. Then, suddenly, his voice dropped. “Don't make tie you to the bedposts, Carwood.”

“Again?” Carwood replied with a smirk and couldn't help a chuckle. It immediately transformed into a cough fit that had him bent over in its vigour, and he felt Ron's hands take hold of his waist, supporting his weight and keeping him from sinking to his knees into the muddy street. His eyes watered and he felt as if somebody was trying to pull his lungs out of his body. The contractions in his abdomen caused by the violent coughing just didn't come to an end and Carwood felt his right hand claw into Ron's arm. His knees long since had given out, and it was only Ron's tight grip that kept him on his feet. 

It seemed to take forever until he could finally take a breath without coughing, and he took a moment to regain his strength and slow his frantic breathing before he dared to slowly stand up. Ron's hands were still firmly on his waist, not trusting him to remain standing on his own. 

“I hope you get my point now.” Ron said quietly, but there was no triumph in his voice, only sincere concern. Carwood wanted to answer, but his throat was rough and hurt so much and he knew from experience that his voice wouldn't work, so he just gave a slow nod. 

“Good.” Ron replied and grabbed Carwood's arm to pull it around his neck so he could better support his weight. “Now, let's get you back to bed.”

Carwood just nodded again, he felt too spent and tired to protest. His legs were so terribly heavy that every step seemed to take a huge effort and his head hurt as if he'd taken a serious beating. He felt a cramp forming in his stomach from the violent coughing and he only wanted to get back to the nice bed with the real mattress that stood on the first floor. Get back under the warm, soft blanket that he knew Ron had looted for him from somewhere. He was so exhausted that he didn't even care where Ron had stolen them.

They reached the main door and Ron kicked it open, then he forced Bull to take a step back and press against the wall of the hallway so that Ron could half carry half drag Carwood towards the stairs.

“Did he escape again, sir?” Bull asked and Carwood really wished that he was stronger so that he could hit him for asking that question. He had to content himself with glaring, though.

“So he did, Randleman.” Ron replied without reducing his pace. “He didn't even get across the street this time, though.”

“You should tie him down, sir.” Bull suggested, the cigar askew due to his huge grin. Behind him in the living room, Lipton saw Luz and Malarkey break out into laughter.

“I actually thought about it.” Ron agreed, his face serious, but Carwood could see the amusement in his eyes. They reached the staircase and Ron took a better hold of his arm around his neck and began heaving him upstairs. Carwood did his best to carry as much of his weight as he could, but he had to admit that he felt exhausted. 

“Just for the record,” Ron said quietly when they'd gone half of the way, not looking up from the stairs. There was a mischievous smirk tugging on his lips. “I prefer you tied to the bed when you writhe in pleasure, not in a pneumonia induced cough fit.”

It was enough to send Carwood coughing again, although he was _sure_ it wasn't pneumonia induced. He was just glad that he could explain the bright red of his cheeks with his sickness when they crossed Webster in the hallway on the first floor.


	8. Of Rules and Jokes (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perconte and Luz define some rules. Or: How Lipton discovers 'Easy's Cardinal Rules of Dealing with Captain Speirs'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is based on [Easy's Cardinal Rules of Dealing with Captain Speirs](http://camp-toccoa.livejournal.com/687507.html) which again is based on garnettrees' [Parlor in Haguenau Picspam](http://camp-toccoa.livejournal.com/685904.html). It's my take on how the rules came into existence and how the scribbles came on the paper. I want to thank garnettrees for providing such a great inspiration, since the rules themselves come from her.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Luz watched the new Lieutenant – Johnson or whatever his name was – and barely held back a groan. That boy had no sense of self-preservation. Absolutely none at all. The rumours about Speirs had spread far by now, even that kid must have heard some of them, and yet he was barging in like a fool.

“I wonder how long he's going to make it.” Luz said quietly, more to himself than to anybody in particular.

He got an answer anyway, from Perconte who was leaning against the wall behind them. “He just violated about every rule there is about dealing with Speirs.”

“You mean not to attract Speirs' attention if you're so lucky that he hasn't noticed you yet?”

“Yeah, that.” Frank agreed with a nod. “And he interrupted Lip. He just cut in without even realising that he was basically signing his own death warrant.”

Luz snorted. “Well, if Speirs offers him a cigarette, we know that the boy's meat.”

Frank made a vague gesture with his hand, including the new Lieutenant and Speirs, who was currently bent over the back of Lip's couch. “Yeah, I wonder who gets him first, the Germans or Speirs.”

Luz pulled out a Lucky Strike and lit it. “My bet is on Speirs.”

Frank was quiet for a moment, observing the scene. “Now we just need the new guy to offer Lip a cigarette and he's dead for sure.”

“Yeah, not a wise thing to do when you're not me. Or Speirs.” Luz said with a huge grin.

Perconte turned to frown at him. “I always wonder why you can do that without him taking you apart. The rest of us definitely couldn't get away with it.”

Luz shrugged, he'd wondered the same thing more than once. Not that he'd tell Perco that. “Honestly? Because it's me.”

“George, you're so full of it.” Frank replied with a snort.

Luz just grinned. “No reason to be jealous, Perco.”

“I'm not jealous of you.”

“Course you are.” Luz leaned back with an incredibly smug expression on his face.

Perconte just patted his breast pocket. “At least _I_ get to keep my cigarettes.”

“You don't even smoke.”

Frank shrugged. “True, but they're fantastic for trading.”

“You should rather give them to me.” Luz said with an expression that resembled a pout. “I would at least smoke them.”

Perconte raised an eyebrow and threw him a calculating glance. “What are you willing to trade?”

“I hate you, Perco.”

Frank just grinned.

***

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/16335757/61986/61986_original.jpg)

It was early morning when Luz entered the former living room that now served as the CP for Easy. Everything was just as dirty and half-destroyed as it had been the day before, but there was something that caught Luz' eye immediately. It was a piece of paper, on the wall behind Lipton's couch – and don't ask him when it had become 'Lipton's couch', but that was how everybody referred to it – and although it was crumpled, there was something written on it.

Luz suppressed a sigh. Another one of Sink's notes. Useless stuff that didn't make anybody feel better, anyway. Still, he would hear about it sooner or later anyway, and Luz preferred to be the first one to get the news. So he approached the wall with the damned letter and began to read.

_'Easy's Cardinal Rules of Dealing with Captain Speirs:'_

“No.” Luz stood in front of the paper and couldn't help his mouth hanging open in astonished disbelief. “He didn't.”

He couldn't help it, his gaze was magically glued to the paper and he had to read on as if he was under a spell.

_'1) If Speirs hasn't noticed you exist, for god's sake, don't draw his attention, especially by being phenomenally stupid.'_

All right, Frank _had_ really done it. And this rule was definitely directed at that Jacob-Johnson-Jones-whatever character. Luz just couldn't help wondering where the heck Frank had gotten access to a typewriter, though. That the paper was reused was quite obvious, though. There were more stains than white.

The next rule was _'2) Don't interrupt First Sergeant Lipton'_ and Luz just snorted. How true. Especially if Speirs was around to witness it. Or even worse, if he was talking to Lip at the time of the interruption. Oh, this new guy was toast. Luz almost felt sorry for him.

Then _'3) Don't accept cigarettes from Speirs'_ and behind it, in pencil, as if it had come to Frank as a afterthought: _'(or you WILL die)'_. By now, Luz was grinning widely. Oh, this was fantastic. The boys would be on the floor with laughter once they saw this. It was bound to raise spirits for a long time to come.

Well, maybe not Speirs' spirits. But what was life worth without a bit of risk, anyway?

Luz read on and didn't find what he was looking for. Oh man, Frank had forgotten the fourth rule! Luz hesitated for only a moment, quickly glancing around to make sure nobody was there, then he pulled his pencil out of his breast pocket and scribbled, _'4) Don't offer a cigarette to First Sergeant Lipton.'_ That should do. The list wouldn't be of any help if it wasn't complete, after all.

Luz grinned, satisfied with his work, and read on. _'effective Feb. 9th 1945, Haguenau'_ and in the next line _'signed:'_ and then, in Perconte's neat handwriting, _'Luz, George. Technician Fourth Grade'_.

“What the hell?” Oh no, he wasn't going to let Frank pin that on him. And hey, he had his pencil already in his hand anyway, so no harm in correcting this document a bit. Luz crossed out his name and scribbled _'Perconte, Frank J.'_ under it, then he turned to the headline and crossed out _'Captain Speirs'_ , quickly replacing it by _'The Incredible Speirs'_. Because really, who ran through a whole town full of German soldiers to get to another company, just to run the same way back afterwards when he could have stayed safely with said company? That was incredible – not that Luz minded. Speirs was _their_ incredible commander, after all. And he really wanted to keep it that way, so Luz underlined the _'Cardinal Rules'_ , then he decided it needed more emphasis and drew a box around it. That should do.

At the bottom of the page, as if Frank had tried to make it look official, he'd typed the whole credentials of Easy. _'E Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army'_. Nice work, Luz admitted and grinned while he put his pencil back into his pocket. He owed Frank for that one. 

“Hey Luz. Morning.” Liebgott greeted him, rubbing his eyes sleepily, a metal mug with coffee in his free hand. “What're you looking at?”

Luz just turned with a huge grin. “Come here and see for yourself.”

*** 

When Lipton stumbled into the living room, aiming straight for the couch that the boys had begun to call 'Lipton's couch', he didn't pay attention to anything besides setting one foot in front of the other and reaching the safety of the couch without making a fool of himself. He was getting better, true enough, but as Doc Roe had put it, there was still a long road ahead of him. And he knew it, felt the exhaustion deep in his bones and the shivers that still ran through his body from time to time. He was always cold, and only at night, when he was sleeping with Ron pressed against his back, did he feel vaguely comfortable.

He'd been sitting on his couch for a few minutes before he became aware of Bull and Malarkey standing behind him, looking fascinated at the wall and suppressing laughter. That alone was unusual enough – especially Malarkey hadn't laughed much since Bastogne – but the fact that Bull's omnipresent cigar was sticking out of his breast pocket instead of his mouth was making Lipton truly curious. Enough to turn around to take a closer look, finding Bull glancing at him with such a huge grin that it was no surprise that the cigar wouldn't stay in his mouth. 

“Boys, what is so funny?” Lipton asked and wished he had a hot cup of coffee to wrap his hands around.

“Oh, nothing, Lip.” Bull replied, the grin never wavering. “Just a few interesting new rules.”

Lipton had to suppress a sigh. “From Sink, I assume.”

Malarkey actually snorted. “Not exactly.”

Lipton frowned in confusion. “Who then?”

Bull shrugged. “I'd say 'undetermined'.”

“What?” Really, Lipton knew he was still sick, but he was sure it was _them_ not making sense. He groaned and got up from his couch to see what they were talking about. “Let me have a look.”

“Sure.” Malarkey said with a barely suppressed grin and made room for Lipton to step in front of the sheet of paper.

At the headline, Lipton frowned in confusion. When he'd read the first point on the list, he had to hide a grin. At the second, he snorted. At the third, he shook his head in amusement and at the end of the paper he was chuckling. Frank and George, no doubt about that, even if their names hadn't been written on the paper. 

“So, what do you think of those new rules, Sarge?” Bull asked with his cigar back in its usual place.

Lipton knew he should take this list down, should enforce the respect for superior officers, but he also knew this little piece of paper, within half a day, would be able to raise the men's spirits more than a complete week of warm showers. He smirked and glanced at Malarkey and Bull. “I think they should be shared with the class. But the teachers shouldn't know.”

Malarkey grinned. “We will take care of that.”

“Good.” Lipton replied. “I know the Captain is gone with Major Winters until this afternoon. By then, this should be gone.” 

“It will be.” Malarkey agreed, his serious nod obviously fake.

“Still, I don't want to see any more quirky notes on that paper. We don't want this thing to get out of hand.” Lipton looked at it for a moment, then he pulled out the stump of his pencil and wrote with an amused shake of his head _'Boys, stop it.'_

When he returned to the couch, still smirking, he heard Bull chuckle behind him. Within the next two hours, Lipton heard more laughter and chuckles from behind his couch than he had heard in a very long time. Around noon, when he was alone in the room, bent over the list of much-needed supplies he was writing, his gaze wandered back to the piece of paper on the wall. He couldn't help wondering how Ron would react should he see this list. Until now, Ron had only run through the CP once this morning on his way to meet with Winters, and he hadn't paid much attention to the surroundings. But once he did... 

After a moment, Lipton got up and added a second line as a reminder. _'And remove this before he sees it.'_ Better safe than sorry. He liked Luz and Perconte, and he wanted to keep them unharmed, he thought with another smirk.

*** 

It was cold, and Carwood couldn't suppress the shivers that ran through his body. He'd retreated to the room he shared with Ron, hoping it would be warmer than the CP with its broken doors and windows. It didn't help much, though, and he guessed that it wasn't really the temperature that was so low, but his sick body's perception of it. He'd wrapped all four blankets around himself, but he was still cold. 

The door opened and Ron entered, closing it firmly behind him. He took one look at Carwood's miserable expression and the tremors that shook the whole pile of blankets, then he removed his belt with all its gear and came over to the bed.

“Move aside.” Ron said with a smirk and sat down on the mattress, sliding up to lean with his back against the headboard. Then he took hold of Carwood's shoulders and pulled him close until his head rested against Ron's chest. He pulled the blankets over them and his arm wrapped around Carwood's shoulders in a firm grip. Carwood allowed his eyes to shut as he huddled closer to the irresistible warmth of Ron's body. 

“Thanks.” He murmured into the fabric under his face.

Above him, he heard Ron chuckle. “We don't want you to freeze to death now that you've survived your pneumonia, do we?”

“Hmmm.” Carwood was too comfortable to bother with a reply, and Ron chuckled again and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. Then he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Carwood raised his head and eyed the Lucky Strike, but Ron shook his head. 

“You're in no condition to be smoking. You know what the Doc said.”

Carwood just sighed and let his head fall back down. He knew Ron was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

“When you're better, I'll offer you a cigarette.” It was quiet for a moment with Ron smoking, relaxed against the headboard of the bed, and Carwood enjoyed the rare closeness and the comfortable silence. The cigarette reminded him of the list of rules from the living room. It had been gone when he'd been down there this afternoon, so he guessed one of the boys had taken his advice and removed it. His guess was that it had been either Bull or Malarkey, not one of the alleged authors. 

Ron moved under him, searching for something in his pocket, the Lucky Strike dangling between his lips. Carwood didn't pay too much attention to his movements and kept his eyes closed until there was an amused snort. He raised his head in surprise and found Ron with an unfolded piece of paper in his free hand.

“I know for a fact that _you're_ excluded from rule number three.” Ron said and turned to look at Carwood with a teasing smirk tugging on his lips. The paper was very familiar, stained and bent and crumpled, and Carwood didn't need to read it to know what it was. He couldn't hold back a groan and hid his face against Ron's neck. 

Oh dear. He really didn't want to know how Ron would make the boys pay for that. He should have made them take it down this morning. Now he would to have to tell Ron that he'd allowed it to remain on the wall for the better part of a day. 

Ron just grinned and seemed highly amused. “And _I_ am most certainly excluded from rule number four.”


	9. Of Death and Despair (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landsberg haunts them all. Or: How Speirs and Lipton deal with the horrors they saw.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Landsberg, the beautiful little town that seemed almost untouched by war, proved to be a nightmare.

They were all haunted by what they had seen, smelled, tasted, felt. By the ghosts that had walked towards them, skinny hands reaching out for help, to touch, out of relief. Only that they weren't ghosts, they were people, and it was this knowledge that haunted them the most. Because they couldn't understand how any human being could be this cruel. 

Even Luz was quiet.

Lipton knew that his own way of dealing was to get active, to do something, _anything_ , to set things in motion so that they could help those people in the camp. He got so busy that his mind never found a second to turn back to those images that were burnt forever in his memory. He would work until he'd fall asleep from exhaustion, because he knew that in his case, exhaustion kept the nightmares away.

Ron was different.

He fell silent. Even more than he usually was. He functioned just as perfectly he had before, he gave orders and kept the men organised and did his duty. But the spark that Lipton had always been able to see behind his harsh words was gone. It almost physically pained Lipton to see him like that, and it pained him even more to know that there was nothing he could do about it right now. He knew he couldn't offer comfort, not only because he was certain it wouldn't be accepted, but also because it would have torn down his own walls, the only thing that made it possible for Lipton himself to keep functioning.

Ron had been the first one to enter the camp, and Lipton knew because he'd watched him. He'd never seen Ron walk like that, without his grace, without his energy, without his innate authority. Almost like defeated. Later, Lipton had seen Ron standing in the middle of the path that led through the camp, all those people moving around him, yet he was totally motionless. His face was a mask of shell-shocked disbelief and stunned horror, a look Lipton would never forget. He never wanted to see it again. He wanted to erase it, wanted to make it better. But he knew he couldn't. 

Nobody could.

And there was work to do, so many things to organise, and Lipton held onto his tasks with everything he was, because it was the only thing that kept him from walking up to Ron, from wrapping his arms around him and holding on to him until this nightmare ended. 

He couldn't say if it was to give comfort or to seek it. Maybe both.

When he came back into their room in Landsberg that night, dead on his feet yet unable to relax, Ron looked at him, his face perfectly neutral, but his eyes were burning with raw emotion, with so many things that Lipton felt almost overwhelmed. He instinctively took one step forward, not even sure what he wanted to do. But Ron stepped back, averting his gaze for only a moment, and when he looked up again, his eyes were empty. Lipton felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach when Ron turned away and left the room. 

He didn't follow. 

The next morning, they organised the inhabitants of Landsberg into groups and the MPs lead them to the camp. Lipton knew he couldn't have gone back to that camp, and while he felt guilty that MPs had to do this task instead of him, his relief outweighed his sense of duty for once. 

It was shortly before noon when Easy were ready to move out, the men settled on the trucks, the jeeps for the officers waiting. Lipton looked over to where Ron entered the back of the one of the jeeps, watched him sit down with a straight back and stiff, brisk movements. His brows were pulled together and his mouth was a tight line. He never looked up, and Lipton felt something deep inside him beginning to hurt.

It only got worse.

There were no touches anymore. No hand on his shoulder, no fingers grazing his arm. There were no looks, no glances. It was as if a wall had come up, invisible but incredibly strong. Ron had turned into the Speirs of the rumours, into a man Lipton had never known. When they reached Thalem, Lipton's nerves were raw and he felt that he was one step short of either breaking or exploding. He'd never felt like that, had never experienced this intense urge to hit something, and the lack of sleep combined with the constant memories of Landsberg didn't help him keeping it together. 

He must have radiated some of his aggressive misery, because the men left him alone and for once he was grateful for it. He couldn't have dealt with the questions, with the sympathy. Not that anybody had a lot of that to offer with the smell of burnt flesh still lingering in their clothes, their noses, their memory. Lipton pulled himself together as much as he could manage, and went about his job, getting the men settled for the night. He was glad that he didn't see much of Speirs.

When he retreated to the room Winters had assigned to him and Speirs, it was empty and the bed was untouched. For a moment Lipton just stood in the middle of the room, staring at the single bed that a day ago he would have shared with Ron. Then he pulled out his bedroll and spread it out on the ground. Things had changed.

He was so tired that he didn't even ache any more, yet he couldn't find any sleep. He lay on his bedroll, staring at the ceiling that was partly illuminated by weakly reflected moonlight, and tried to fight off the ghosts that lived in his mind. The images of men who were almost starved to death. Of bodies spread all over the ground, so many dead that he couldn't count them. The stench of burnt flesh. The feeling of horror and consternation, of helplessness and desperation. Every time he closed his eyes, the sensations became stronger, the images became clearer. He just wanted to forget.

It was very late when Lipton heard footsteps in the hallway outside the room, but he didn't bother moving. He would recognise them everywhere. They stopped in front of the door, remained still for a long time, before the door was pushed open with an effort to keep quiet. Carwood wondered if Speirs didn't want to wake him in order to avoid having do deal with him. Probably. 

But then, maybe he just didn't care anymore. Carwood bit his lip hard and tried to suppress the overwhelmingly strong feelings of anger, betrayal and hurt. He'd never felt more lonely in the presence of a person that he thought he knew. 

The door was pushed shut again and the footsteps passed Carwood, walking towards the bed. There was the sound of a belt being opened, then the heavy gear was set down to rest on the ground. After that, Speirs just stood motionless in front of the bed, face turned towards the window, and Carwwod couldn't help staring at the straight back and the stiff posture. Even without Ron ever saying anything, Carwood knew deep down that he was hurting, that he was just as haunted by the events of Landsberg as he was, and that this silence was Ron's way of dealing with it. He wasn't hurting Carwood on purpose, he did it because he didn't know how else to react. 

Maybe, Carwood thought while he was watching the stiff set of Ron's shoulders, maybe _he_ had to take the first step. Because he knew that Ron wouldn't do it, was too caught up in his own pain. Maybe it was time to gather his courage and trust that Ron would recognise his effort. Carwood took a deep breath to calm his own emotions, then he stood up and walked over to Ron, standing beside him, leaving about a foot of distance between them. For a long time, he didn't say anything, just stood there in shared silence, and Ron never gave any indication that he was aware of Carwood's presence.

Carwood turned to look at him, then he reached out and set his hand on the small of Ron's back, just like he had done countless times before. It was a gesture of understanding, of reassurance, a simple touch to show that he cared. Ron stiffened under his hand, then he took a step aside to break the connection. 

“Go back to sleep, Lieutenant.” Ron continued to stare out of the window and his voice was cold and emotionless, as if he was talking to a subordinate officer he'd never known beyond a professional relationship. Somebody he had never trusted, had never shared a bed with, had never touched in the heat of passion, had never cared about. It gave Lipton the final push, made him hit his breaking point hard.

“Damn it, Ron, look at me!” Carwood felt the anger explode inside him, blinding him for a moment, and he gave in to the urge to lash out. “You are not the only one who hurts!”

As if the words had broken a hole into his shields, a shiver passed through Ron, first a little shaking of his hands, then it wandered up his arms, and finally the tremors went through his entire body. When he finally turned to look at Carwood, his eyes were unnaturally wide. There were so many emotions flickering through them, everything from hurt, grief, horror, disbelief and anger to desperation and helplessness and countless nuances inbetween. When Ron opened his mouth to say something, a raw sound came out, so incredibly close to a cry, and it made Carwood's insides clench painfully.

“Ron...” Carwood stepped in without a moment's hesitation and closed his arms around the strong shoulders that were now shaking in almost silent sobs. His hands clawed into the fabric of Ron's uniform jacket, fists that he knew he wouldn't be able to loosen even if he wanted to. His nose was pressed against the side of Ron's neck, halfway buried in his dark hair, his eyes screwed close against his own tears. Against the skin of his neck, he felt the hot wetness of Ron's breath, of his tears. Ron's arms were wrapped around his waist, tight as a steel band, almost keeping him from breathing. His fingers dug painfully in Carwood's sides with a grip that was born out of despair. 

“Don't...” Ron's voice was rough with emotion, with pain and tears, and it broke before he could finish the sentence. 

Lipton tightened his hold, his voice no more than a hoarse whisper. “I've got you, Ron.”

And Carwood held on.


	10. Of Truth and Temptation (Speirs/Lipton, implied Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In vino veritas. Or: Lipton has to deal with a drunken Speirs.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

The world was perfect. Sun. Fresh air. No bullets flying around. No pain. A comfortable deck chair.

Booze.

A lot of that, by the way. And good stuff, too. Nothing he would ever have been able to afford if he had to pay for it. But that was the advantage of being 'invaders' – you could just take what was left over. 

And there was _a lot_ left over in Eagle's Nest. And it was good stuff. 

Hadn't he said that already? 

Pshaw! Who cared. Life was good.

Harry just stretched out on the deck chair with a huge, content grin, eyes closed against the sun that shone on his face. He decided that he was drunk. A little, at least. It was still sunny out there, so he shouldn't have had enough time to get really drunk. He guessed.

“Here, Harry.” Something touched his hand, cold and slightly wet, and Harry turned his head to the side to look at it. He saw a bottle of champagne and a hand holding it out to him. His gaze followed the arm that was attached to the hand, and then along the shoulder to the head. Ahh, Ron. Good man. With booze.

“Thanks a lot, Captain.” Harry replied with a grin and gave a mock salute before he took hold of the bottle and sat up so he could drink some more. He wasn't drunk enough, yet. Ron just snorted and stole the bottle Nix held between his hands with an almost meditative stare. Maybe he was just drunk, too. 

Then there was Dick, all smiles and happiness and eyes for Nix, and Lip followed right behind him, more smiles and happiness and eyes for Ron. Harry knew he was drunk when he had problems standing upright, but really, even in this 'inebriated state' as Kitty would put it, he had _no_ problems reading them. If they thought they were being subtle, Harry mused, then he was stone-cold sober. 

Maybe he should convince Dick to drink something. It would help him loosen up and Nix would certainly approve of that, Harry thought while he tried to remain upright.

And then, the war was over.

Or so Dick said, smile even brighter, and Harry wondered if he wanted to compete with the sun. Harry didn't entirely get it, though. The war was always there, the only constant in the whole time they'd been in Europe. How could it be over? 

Wow, that was _big_. 

He needed a drink.

Dick and Nix were gone before Harry had recovered from the war being over, and a Lip-hug helped him to realise that the thing with the war had indeed to be true. Lip didn't hug around, only when he was very happy. Or when you were Ron. But then, they usually tried to close the door before they started hugging. Once, they hadn't been fast enough, though, and Harry had seen them. 

Cute, really. Especially Ron. Harry took another large sip from the bottle of champagne that he still held in his hand and looked at Ron and Lip. Really cute. Ron turned into a cuddly puppy around Lip. That special skill of Lip's should be a weapon. That would have been awesome. Put Lip in the middle of an occupied zone, and all Germans come out to get cuddled. Why hadn't they thought about that before? The war could have been over so much sooner. 

If it worked on Ron, it would work on the Germans. Certainly. 

But then, Ron was very possessive, so maybe he would have tried to kill all those poor bastards who came at his Lip for hugs. That would _not_ have been nice. So much blood. And poor Lip right in the middle of it. Maybe that was the reason why the army hadn't used the Lip-Weapon.

“Harry? Sir?” Oh, there was a 'sir', so it could only be Lip. Ron hadn't been using a 'sir' for him for a very long time.

“I think you should lie down, sir.” Lip had a hand on Harry's shoulder, and his concerned face drifted into Harry's range of vision from somewhere to his right. Lip was really good at the concerned look, Harry thought and decided that lying down wasn't that bad an idea. He must have said something along these lines, because Lip had taken hold of his other shoulder and guided him away from the terrace into the interior of Eagle's nest. He seemed to know where he was going, because suddenly there was a couch, and it was huge and it looked really inviting. Harry just fell down on it and waved Lip's protests away, reassuring him that he was fine and that he really _didn't_ need a bucket.

After some time, Harry couldn't have said how long even if threatened with death, he heard Lip's footsteps on the carpet and then it was quiet. Nice. But where was his bottle? Harry couldn't really bother enough to move. He drifted for some time, content with the world and the couch. Yip. Life was good.

There were voices, not entirely understandable, a bit muffled, but that could be because he was face down in the pillow. Harry made a small unintelligible sound and turned his head. Ahh, that was better.

“Ron, what...” Lip, that was definitely Lip. He had to be further away, probably out on the terrace, and he sounded a bit breathless. That boy needed a drink. 

“Car...” Wow, what a strange voice. Low, rough, dark, and it was saying things that made no sense. What was a car doing up here at Eagle's Nest? There weren't any cars, he was sure of that.

He was going to ask Lip about the car. Not now, though. Tomorrow. Now, he just wanted to stay on this impressively comfortable couch and sleep.

There were more sounds, and Harry chuckled in the pillow. He wasn't drunk enough _not_ to understand _these_ sounds. Lip and The Voice were going to do dirty things. He didn't want to know about their dirty things. He'd rather _do_ dirty things. With Kitty. He wanted Kitty and then do dirty things with her. She loved dirty things. She was good at them, too. Kitty was just good at everything.

Well, she wasn't good at baking. She always burnt everything. He loved Kitty. His Kitty.

He smiled and hugged the pillow, and he was sure it smelled like his Kitty. That was the last thing he remembered before he woke up with a hell of a hangover the next day.

*** 

Bringing Harry to bed – or rather couch, in this specific case – had been the easy part of the task. Carwood was certain that dealing with Ron was going to be far more difficult. 

He couldn't have been more right.

Before he'd even entered the terrace, he felt Ron grip his shoulders and press him against the wall of the stairway. His movements weren't entirely sure anymore, but he still managed to trap Carwood between himself and the stonewall with that single-minded determination that only children and drunks were capable of. Ron's mouth was on his as soon as they had stopped moving, and for a moment, surprise and desire got the better of Carwood and he gave in, allowing himself to return the sensual touch of lips and tongues.

But only for a moment. Then the voice of reason that was deeply ingrained in his very being made him pull back. Ron obviously hadn't understood that Carwood wasn't only playing hard to get, because he tried to capture his mouth again, hands still securely on Carwood's waist.

“Ron, what...” 

“Car...” Oh God. Carwood had to close his eyes to force himself to stay strong. He swore that Ron knew exactly what this pet name did to him, especially when Ron used that dark voice that made goosebumps spread all over Carwood's skin. 

Still, Carwood tried to listen to the voice of reason. “Ron, Harry is asleep in the room right next to us!”

Ron just leaned in and began licking his earlobe. “I don't care.”

“But I do! I don't intend to get court-martialled now that the war is over and we actually managed to survive it!” It cost Carwood all of his discipline to actually step back. He needed to bring physical distance between him and the obviously drunk Ronald Speirs or his resolve would crumble in the blink of an eye. 

“As if Harry would ever betray us.” Ron huffed out, obviously not happy about the space separating him from the object of his desire. “He's known for ages, anyway.”

“What?” Carwood couldn't help sounding breathless, and it didn't have much to do with desire anymore.

Ron nodded pensively, then his face contorted in a frown of concentration. “And Nix knows, too. And Winters, I think.”

It took Carwood almost half a minute to find his voice, and in that time, he tried to rein in his thoughts that were running wild. Ron was drunk. Maybe he was just talking nonsense.

Hopefully.

Carwood cleared his throat and tried not to sound panicked. “What makes you think they know?”

“Well, Nix saw this.” Ron pointed with his hand at his collarbone, where, true enough, a bite mark was visible under his unbuttoned shirt. Carwoos felt a blush creep up his neck. He knew he shouldn't bite Ron, really, he did, but he just couldn't help it. And seeing how Ron seemed to get off on the feeling of his teeth on his throat, it was really difficult to control himself enough _not_ to bite. He rarely managed, and Ron had teased him for it mercilessly ever since. It was good that Ron didn't mind wearing a scarf, even when it was warm. They'd be deep in trouble otherwise.

“How did he see it?” Carwood wondered, aware that he sounded a bit flustered despite his best efforts to the contrary. “You knew it was there and you've said you'd cover...”

“No, not _this_ one precisely.” Ron interrupted him with a vague movement of his hand and his words reminded Carwood of the _multitude_ of bite marks he'd given Ron over the time. “The first one.”

“First one?”

“On the way to Haguenau.” Ron said in a voice that made it clear that he thought the question was incredibly stupid.

Carwood couldn't find anything to reply to that. He was really and truly shocked into speechlessness. He swallowed several times against the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat before he was able to press out, “You mean all this time Captain Nixon _knew_...”

Ron just nodded, and there was a smile on his lips that was almost smug. “He threw me a scarf and told me to better cover – and I quote – 'Lip's little message'.”

With a groan Carwood sagged back against the wall and his head fell into his hands. This was getting worse by the minute. “And Winters?” he asked through his hands.

“Whatever Nixon knows, Winters knows.” Ron shrugged as if stating an obvious truth.

Carwood wanted to never face any of his superior officers again. He didn't raise his head, only murmured into his finger, “That's not all. He caught me saying your first name back when I was sick with pneumonia...”

“Yeah, well, I guess that was as good as a confession.” Ron huffed out a laugh. He seemed to be pretty amused by all of this. Carwood blamed the alcohol for his relaxed stance on things. Tomorrow, he'd look at them differently. 

When Ron swayed on his feet, Carwood overcame his moment of self-pity and took hold of his arm. “Come on, let's get back to the terrace and sit down.”

Ron mulishly remained where he was. “I don't need to sit down.”

Carwood sighed. “Well, but after what you just told me, _I_ have to sit down.” 

“Oh. All right.” Ron nodded instantly and let Carwood steer him towards the terrace. Carwood sat down and was just about to pull Ron down to sit next to him on the foot of the deck chair when, in a moment of alcohol induced euphoria, Ron threw himself against Carwood. He fell backwards due to the momentum and found himself with an armful of drunkenly happy Captain on top of him, smiling down at him with a glow in his green eyes.

“Got'cha.” Ron murmured and bent down, his lips passing over Carwood's in a slow caress, more a touch than a kiss. Then he nibbled on Carwood's bottom lip in an almost lazy fashion before he licked along the bites. Carwood couldn't help falling for the gentle and teasing caress, couldn't push Ron away when he was like this. He never could. He loved the rare moments of Ron's tenderness too much to ever refuse them. 

Ron never deepened the kiss, he seemed entirely happy to just explore Carwood's mouth with his lips, his teeth and his tongue. Carwood just lay there, eyes closed, absorbing every touch, every nip, every lick and indulging in the sensations they caused. After a long time, Ron pecked him on the lips one last time and rested his head on Carwood's shoulder, the rest of his body stretched out over Carwood in a boneless sprawl. Ron moved a bit, his hands finding Carwood's sides and forming into fists in the fabric of his uniform jacket, obviously getting comfortable with no intention to move any time soon.

Carwood signed quietly. However much he enjoyed this, doing it here and now was reckless. “Somebody could walk in, Ron.”

“Nobody's here.” The voice that answered him was muffled from where Ron's head was pressed into Carwood's uniform. 

“Ron...”

“I know, Car.” Ron replied, and Lipton thought that he sounded sleepy. “Just for a moment.”

Carwood sighed again, this time in defeat, because he knew he didn't have the heart to dislodge Ron when he was so trustingly cuddled up against him. It happened rarely, and never this openly – Ron obviously had to be drunk to allow himself to be needy – and Carwood cherished the moment too much to end it without a pressing need. And there was none at the moment. Eagle's Nest was deserted apart from Harry, who was passed out cold on the couch inside. Nobody would come up here, the waves of curious soldiers had already passed this afternoon. 

Carwood brought his arms up and wrapped them around the strong back, one of his hands sliding in the tousled hair. Ron moved his head a little and snuggled closer, burying his nose under Carwood's ear. 

“Don't ever leave me, Carwood.”

The words were so low he almost didn't hear them. For a moment, Carwood was utterly speechless. He couldn't say what it was about that sentence that surprised and touched him so much, the way Ron said it or the words themselves. Of course he'd known he and Ron weren't just blowing off steam – there were far easier ways to do that – but he'd never expected to hear Ron confirm that.

He tightened his hold on Ron's shoulder and let his fingers card through his hair in an almost unconscious caress. “I don't intend to, Ron.”

There was no answer, and Carwood suspected that the alcohol had taken its toll and Ron had finally fallen asleep. Carwood's heart was still beating too fast, his head swimming with the implications of the quiet words, and he wondered if Ron would even remember them in the morning. Probably not, considering how much he'd had to drink. He sighed silently and pressed a kiss to the skin of Ron's temple right under his lips. At least he knew now that his feelings weren't one-sided. It would have to be enough.

“Promise?” Ron asked suddenly, moving even closer, his voice low and heavy with sleep. 

“Yeah.” Carwood breathed out equally quiet and kissed his temple again. “I promise.”

A moment later, Carwood felt Ron's chest move against his own in the gentle motion of regular, deep breaths and it told him that Ron was truly asleep now. Carwood closed his eyes, tightened his hold on the man in his arms and buried his nose in his hair.

It would have to be enough.


	11. Of Innuendo and Ambiguity (Speirs/Lipton, Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, words have more than one meaning. Or: How Speirs and Harry made Lipton blush – one on purpose, the other by chance.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

They were on their way to Austria, the motions of the jeep gently swaying Harry from side to side. He felt better than he had this morning, when he'd woken to an impressive hangover. It must have been the champagne. Maybe that was the Germans' subtle way of taking revenge for Harry drinking all their booze up at Eagle's Nest. Nix and Ron hadn't looked much better when he'd crossed them on his way to the jeep this morning.

Harry grinned. At least he wasn't suffering alone. 

Lipton sat in the driver's seat, his eyes dutifully on the road, although their speed wasn't very high. They were driving a long queue of jeeps and trucks, and that triggered a memory in Harry's still half-fuzzy mind. 

“Oh, Lip, I just remembered that I wanted to ask you something.”

“Sure, sir.” Lip replied with a quick sidewards glance. “Go ahead.”

“I know I was pretty drunk yesterday, but I think I heard you or Ron say something about a car up at Eagle's Nest and...” Harry stopped. Never in his life had he seen somebody blush that fiercely that quickly. It shot up Lipton's neck into his cheeks and he obviously tried very hard to ignore it, staring straight ahead at the street.

Harry just smirked. “So I guess there wasn't any car at Eagle's Nest yesterday.”

In a definitely nervous gesture, Lip licked his lips before he shook his head. “No, sir.”

“All right, so what was that talk about cars, then?” Harry just had to try, although he deemed his chances of finding something out rather slim.

For a moment that lasted a bit too long to be polite, Lip didn't reply. “Nothing, sir.”

Oh, now he was curious. There was something Lipton wasn't telling him, and whatever it was, it managed to get him blazing red and fidget nervously. Maybe he should ask Ron. As far as he remembered, Ron had been at Eagle's Nest when the subject had come up.

Harry didn't say anything else, but he couldn't help watching Lip sit straight-backed in the seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel a bit too tightly and his face a bit too neutral under the slowly receding blush. It took over half an hour until Lipton relaxed again and the red had left his face entirely.

By then, Harry was deeply intrigued. He knew Lip wouldn't talk, so Harry decided to make it his private little mission to find out what all this fuss was about.

*** 

The first opportunity came up the night of their arrival at Zell am See. The rich atmosphere of the place was an invitation to a night of poker while drinking real coffee and high-end liquor. So Harry tried to assemble their usual group of Nixon, Speirs, Lipton and himself, but somehow the men seemed to have other plans. Nix excused himself with something vague about having to go over some intel with Winters – and Harry couldn't help his snort here, although he quickly tried to disguise it as a cough – and poor Lip was called away due to some problem with the accommodation of the men just when their second round started. 

So Harry found himself only with Ron and a nice bottle of Scotch at the huge table, both of them with their cards in their hands. Lipton's set lay abandoned between them on the wood, right next to the still steaming mug of coffee that Lip had left behind. Harry watched how Ron reached for it, pulling it over to his side of the table and drinking from it without hesitating a moment. It was then that Harry sensed his moment to question Captain Ronald Speirs had finally come.

“Tell me, Ron,” Harry asked casually, looking over the rim of his cards, “what did you do at Eagle's Nest after Lip parked me on the couch?” 

Ron was just taking a sip and looked at Harry over the mug, then he lowered it with this smile that made him look even more scary than when he was frowning. “None of your business, Harry.”

Harry wasn't knocked off course that easily, though. “Did it have anything to do with a car?”

It was interesting how Ron's left eyebrow rose obviously involuntarily in surprise. “What makes you think about a car?”

“I heard one of you say something about a car.” Harry replied with a shrug, trying to appear less interested than he actually was. “I know, I know, I was drunk and all, but I remember hearing it and I'm wondering what it was about. I'm pretty sure there weren't any cars at Eagle's Nest.”

“Well, that's probably because there weren't.”

“Yeah, I thought that too, but to make sure I asked Lip about it, because he was the only one of us who was sober and therefore he should know.” Harry took a sip of his Scotch and carefully watched Ron's reaction.

Speirs was as calm as you can be. “And?”

“Well, he just blushed like mad, but he didn't say anything about it.”

“I can imagine.” Ron snorted and Harry tried not to look too surprised, but what the hell, was that a smirk?

“So you know what his reaction was about?” Harry leaned forward in anticipation, he felt that he was close to the solution.

Ron just raised one eyebrow in an almost daring manner. “Yeah, I know.”

“So?”

“Like I said, Harry.” Ron replied and casually leaned back in the elaborate chair, taking another sip of Lip's coffee. “None of your business.”

“Ah, Ron!” Harry fell back in his own chair and growled. “You're frustrating, you know that?”

“I was told so before.” Ron returned calmly and pointed at the cards. “It's your turn, Harry.”

*** 

The second opportunity was not much of an opportunity, it was more like chance letting the answer fall into his lap. Or slapping it in his face, really. Harry was just on his way to meet with Lip down in the courtyard of the hotel when he saw Speirs enter the impressively huge entrance hall from the salon to its right that was currently used as CP. 

“Hey, Ron!” Harry jogged down the last steps while Speirs stopped and looked at him.

“Harry.” He nodded and waited for Harry to join him at the foot of the stairway. “Where are you off to this early in the morning?”

“Meeting Lip outside, then we're headed for the shooting range.” Harry explained and curiously eyed the green regulation scarf that was wrapped tightly around Ron's neck. So it was still early in the morning and the air was a little fresh, but nothing that warranted a scarf. Especially after Bastonge, where their understanding of 'cold' had dropped quite a few degrees below the definition of the general population. “Are you cold, Ron?”

“What?” Speirs asked distractedly while they were walking down the long flight of stairs to where Lipton was waiting.

He knew poking Ronald Speirs wasn't the most intelligent thing to do, but that had never stopped him before. And Harry couldn't help it, the curiosity got the better of him. “Or is there a snowstorm coming that nobody informed me about?” 

“Not that I know of.” Ron stopped in front of Lip and gave Harry a look that said clearly that he thought Harry was either strange or insane. “Good Morning, Lieutenant.”

“Good Morning, sirs.” Lip replied and nodded to both of them.

“Morning, Lip.” Harry replied without paying him too much attention. “Ron, why the heck are you wearing a scarf when the sun's out?” It was only out of the corner of his eye that Harry noticed Lip shuffle almost nervously on his feet.

Ron looked at Harry with a raised eyebrow that was clearly a warning. “Do I have to explain my choice of clothing to you now, Harry?”

“Just curious.” Harry replied and shrugged casually.

Ron just snorted. “What a surprise.”

“Oh come on, Ron, don't tell me _again_ that it's none of my business.”

Ron smirked, and Harry caught his gaze flickering to Lip for a split second. “Actually, Harry, it really is none of your business.”

“But it's Lip's, hmm?” Harry asked with a sly grin. Next to him, he heard Lipton break out in a cough, and Harry couldn't help his grin widening. It was actually kind of fun to make Lip fidget. 

“Which still means it's not yours.” Ron replied calmly, not bothering to deny Harry's implication. Lip had at last successfully controlled his urge to cough and stood next to them with a faint red tinge to his cheeks. 

“We should get to the shooting range, sir.” Lip said with a perfectly neutral voice, obviously determined not to let his nervousness show. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Or both. “The men are waiting.”

“You should get some training too, Ron.” Harry teased with a grin. “Otherwise you'll get lazy.”

“I don't get lazy, Harry, don't worry.” Ron said with a quick glance at Lip. “I'm well exercised.” 

Lip cleared his throat and pointedly looked at Harry. “We should really go, sir.”

“Sure, Lip.”

“I have to leave anyway, I have a meeting with Sink.” Speirs said with a casual salute. “Gentlemen.”

Harry's salute was equally lax. “Have fun, Ron.”

“Captain.” Lip jumped to attention for his salute, just like the perfect rule-abiding soldier he was, and Harry had to hide a grin.

“Lieutenant.” Ron suddenly smirked and added, with a glance first to Harry, then back to Lipton, “We'll train later, Car.”

Lip looked rather uncomfortable in his skin, the red creeping higher in his cheeks, although Harry was sure he'd seen a smile tugging at the Lieutenant's lips and a mischievous gleam in his eyes. It was something you rarely saw with the sincere Carwood Lipton, but Harry was fairly sure that Speirs could get that response out of the man easily enough. 

And then suddenly, as if Ron's words had just sunken in, Harry got it. He really tried, but he just couldn't keep from laughing out aloud. It had never been about an automobile! 'Car' was Ron's pet name for dear Lip! That was just hilarious. Absolutely hilarious.

Ron turned to leave and Harry saw him smirk at Lip who seemed to be fighting another fierce blush, and Harry wondered how it could have taken him so long to make the connection. 'Car' as the short form of 'Carwood' wasn't that difficult to guess, actually. But well, there was a reason Nix was their Intelligence Officer and not Harry, he thought with a grin. As if on cue, when he looked up, he saw Winters and Nixon stand on the balcony on the second floor, watching them. Winters was leaning against the railing, offering his mug to Nix who accepted it almost unconsciously and took a sip before handing it back with a quick smile. 

For a moment, Harry couldn't help wondering what _their_ secret pet names were. Maybe it would be worth another little mission to find out. 

 

*** 

 

Nixon stood on the balcony of Dick's room and looked down into the courtyard where Speirs was talking to Harry and Lipton. He heard Dick come up next to him, joining him in watching. After a moment, Speirs said something that made Harry laugh out aloud, then Ron turned to leave, not without throwing a smirk in Lipton's direction that had the man blushing.

Nixon just shook his head, an expression on his face that was an interesting mixture of bewildered and curious. “Are we as obvious as they are?”

Dick was quiet for a moment, then he sighed into his mug. “I seriously hope not.”

Lewis followed Speirs' retreating form with his gaze, incidentally noticing the scarf he had wrapped around his neck, although the sun was shining brightly and it wasn't cold at all. 

Nixon chuckled and looked at Dick with a wide grin on his lips. “Sometimes I wonder if anybody caught on how often _I_ wear a scarf.”

Dick smirked, but there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “I seriously hope not.”


	12. Of Observations and Ideas (Speirs/Lipton, Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speirs and Lipton become careless. Or: How Major Winters learned more than he ever wanted to know.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Major Dick Winters suppressed a sigh and slowly let his head sink back against the wall. He really didn't know how he'd managed to end up in this situation. Lew wouldn't stop laughing when he told him.

The situation at hand was him, stuck in the last room of a suite in the hotel in Zell am See that served as their current accommodation. Stuck because this room had only one entrance – through another room, and right now, two of his officers were getting busy in that room. Really busy, according to the sounds that were coming through the closed door. 

Dick had just wanted to have a quiet moment away from the men and had decided to retreat to one of the backside balconies of the hotel they occupied. It was just his bad luck that he hadn't been the only one who'd suspected that this part of the building would be abandoned. For a moment, he had wondered if he should try escaping over the balcony, but he hadn't found anything that he could have used as a rope. And he was on the third floor, jumping was not an option.

Using the door wasn't an option, either. When he'd realised that there were other people in the next room, the sound of kissing and clothes being pulled off had already been unmistakable. First, he had thought that one of the men had ignored the rule about not fraternizing with the local women, and he'd already had his hand on the handle to put an end to the things that were about to happen. But then he'd heard a familiar voice, now rough and a little breathless, echoing through the room, and he'd realised that he couldn't open that door. 

Not if he wanted to keep two of his most important officers. 

“God, Car!” It was the first time Dick had heard Speirs address Lipton like that, and his way of saying the name made it sound like a purr that came deep from within his throat. There was something distinctly erotic about it, and it was answered by a low chuckle.

"Do you want yet another mark, Ron?"

There was a sharp intake of breath and when he answered, Speirs' voice was strangely hoarse. "Hell yes, Car!"

There was a loud bang when a body hit the door with a sudden, impressive impact. Dick flinched back and prayed that the door wouldn't spring open. He really didn't want to go through the kind of embarrassment it would cause. The impact was followed by a chuckle and the sound of a very thorough kiss.

"You're wild today, Car." Speirs' voice was low and hoarse, and Dick had no difficulty understanding that the back of the Captain was currently shoved up against the door. 

By Second Lieutenant Carwood Lipton. 

Dick wasn't blind, really, he'd been well aware of the relationship between these two, but he had never expected Lipton to be capable of such aggressive behaviour. Speirs obviously didn't mind at all and the tone of his voice made Dick think that he actually enjoyed being shoved into a wall by his Lieutenant. Or door, in this specific case, Dick thought and eyed the wood suspiciously.

"You've been watching me all day." Lipton's voice was strangely muffled, and Dick guessed that his mouth was pressed somewhere against Speirs' throat. "You know exactly what that does to me."

Another chuckle, this one throaty. "Of course I know."

It sounded as if Lipton was kissing Speirs eagerly, the Captain's back hitting the door several times and making it rattle on its hinges. Dick couldn't help watching the handle sceptically, wondering how well he'd closed the door. He should have turned the key, really. 

“I want you out of those pants.” Lipton panted, a little short of breath.

Speirs didn't sound any better. “Then get them off me.”

There was the ruffling of clothes, punctuated here and there by a deep moan or the wet sound of a kiss. It was almost quiet for a minute, but it didn't help Dick relax in the least. He knew there was more about to come. Literally, he thought with a wry grin. 

“What do you want, Ron?” Lipton's voice was strained, as if he was holding back.

Speirs' answer was equally low, but there was a certainty to his tone that made Dick shiver. He'd heard Lew use that tone, too. “You know what I want.” 

A sound that he couldn't quite place, a moment of silence, only interrupted by heavy breathing. Then a moan, low and so incredibly wanton that Dick felt ashamed for listening. It was followed by another one, then a hiss.

“Ron...”

“Don't you dare stop!” Speirs' voice sounded pressed, yet there was a definite command to it. Lipton seemed to comply, and a moment later, there was that moan again, accompanied by a muffled groan. Then there was a bang against the wall right next to the door, and it made Dick jump. It was only then that he remembered the massive oak desk he'd seen standing there. 

“God, yes!” Distinctly Speirs, although it was a tone Dick had never heard him use before, and he dearly hoped he never would have to hear it again. “Don't stop, Car! Don't stop!”

Again and again, the desk was shoved forwards and then back against the wall, the rhythm slow and teasing, and Dick couldn't keep his mind from creating a vivid image of the scenery beyond the door.

“Don't tease me, Carwood Lipton!” Even breathless, Speirs managed to sound threatening. “Come on, faster!” 

Dick felt his cheeks burn and knew he was bright red. These were things he'd _never ever_ wanted to know. He wondered how he was supposed to look at Lipton and Speirs the next time he saw them and _not_ remember what he'd heard.

"Harder, Car!" A groan. “Come on, harder!”

He'd never thought that Speirs would be that vocal, and neither had he expected him to be voluntarily at the receiving end of this act. But then Dick probably should have known better. After all, he knew from personal experience that things weren't always as they seemed. He couldn't help remembering the look of total abandon, of absolute pleasure and complete trust that he loved seeing on Lew's face when he was buried deep inside him, when he felt Lew contracting around him in the moment of his climax.

There were harsh breaths, little moans and deep groans filtering through the door, combined with the desk banging against the wall. Dick screwed his eyes shut and wished desperately that he could tune out the sounds. He didn't need to be able to see to understand what they were doing. The sound painted an image in his mind, of the room behind the door, of Speirs stretched out on the shiny surface of the desk, back arched and head thrown back, Lipton standing before him, his hands on Speirs' hips, his thrusts quickening with every second. And then the image transformed, and it was him standing there, and beneath him he saw Lew, the beautiful line of his throat exposed and his eyes heavy with ecstasy. 

Dick had to grit his teeth really hard to keep from making any sound at the pleasant fantasy. Really, it wouldn't do if the two men in the adjacent room found out he'd been there all along. 

“Car...Car...” Speirs was groaning Lipton's name again and again, as if telling him something only they understood.

“Come for me, Ron.” Never had Dick thought that the gentle, upright Carwood Lipton could sound like this. So dark, so erotic, so _indecent_. And Speirs responded to it as if Lipton had physically touched him. He groaned deep in his throat, and it wasn't too difficult to understand that he'd reached climax. His breath hitched, then Lipton let out a sound that told Dick that he'd followed Speirs over the edge. 

The frantic breathing on the other side of the door calmed down only slowly, interrupted by the sound of gentle, lazy kisses that sometimes lasted forever, sometimes only a moment. That was another thing that Dick had to admit surprised him: the open affection and the deep trust Speirs showed Lipton so easily; the obviously gentle side of Ronald Speirs, the man with more rumours attached to his name than Lewis had maps. 

“God, I love Austria.” Dick heard Speirs murmur, and he could hear the smile that accompanied the low words.

Lipton let out a breathy laugh. “So do I.”

It was quiet for a long time, only the sound of breathing, sometimes a slow kiss. Dick leaned against the wall, staring up the ceiling, and he wondered how long he was going to be stuck in here. 

Lipton's voice pulled him out of his dark musings. “Isn't Harry waiting for us in the lobby?”

“I think so.” Speirs replied and yawned.

“We should get to him, before he finds us.” Lipton, always the voice of reason. 

“Definitely.” Dick heard movements, then the desk hit the wall once more. There were footsteps, barely audible due to the heavy rugs on the floor, but he could tell that the two officers were moving through the room. 

“Where did you throw my undershirt, Ron?” Lipton asked from somewhere further away from the door.

“Somewhere over by the bed, I think.” Another one of those throaty chuckles. “I didn't really pay attention, Car. I had other things on my mind.”

“And what would that have been?”

“Ahh, I don't know.” A surprisingly playful Speirs answered with a smirk that was audible in his voice. “Maybe your hands inside my pants, or your teeth biting yet another mark on my neck.”

Thank you, he really hadn't wanted to know that. Dick knew he would be looking at Speirs' neck for days, unable to help his curiosity. He decided that he would tell Lew about the mark, just so he wouldn't be the only one staring.

“Here.” Speirs said. He'd probably found the shirt. There was some more shuffling of clothes being pulled on, dog tags rattling, zippers being closed, belts being buckled. After so much time spent sharing rooms with other guys, Dick had no problem identifying every single action by sound. 

“We really should try out the other rooms.” Speirs remarked after a minute of silence, sounding satisfied and a little teasing.

“I heard from Luz that there's a nice suite with a huge tub on the second floor.” A kiss. “We could try it together.”

A groan, obviously from Speirs, followed by another kiss. “You're going to exhaust me, Car, you know that?”

A laugh, soft but deep, and Dick had no problem recognising it as Lipton's now. “Come on, Ron, let's get downstairs.”

More footsteps, and then, with a soft click, the door fell closed behind them. Dick remained where he was for a few more minutes, holding his position in case they came back. He dared to draw in a deep breath and blew it out with a sigh. He still couldn't entirely believe what had just happened. There were things he wasn't supposed to know about his subordinate officers. He knew he wouldn't let it show, _couldn't_ let it show. Speirs and Lipton were officers he valued highly, and whatever the army policy was, he wouldn't let it take those two away from Easy. 

Especially since he wasn't any better than they were. He'd been in a relationship with Lew for months, and the army would court-martial him for it if they ever found out.

He pushed away from the wall where he'd been leaning for the past... he didn't even know how long. The sun was still above the horizon, though, so it couldn't have been _that_ long. But to him, it felt like hours. He still felt the burn on his face, from the tips of his ears to his neck. He took a moment to regain his composure before he opened the door. The room was silent again, looking peaceful and almost undisturbed. When he turned back, his gaze fell on the desk, and he couldn't help noticing the pens and papers that lay on the ground next to it, pushed out of the way by Speirs' hands. The desk stood well outside of the marks its heavy feet had left in the carpet over the years and there was a gap between the desk and the wall. All these were little signs of the things that had happened here only minutes ago, and they gave Dick ideas for the things he wanted to do with Lew tonight. 

Those ideas definitely included the massive oak desk in the suite they shared.


	13. Of Desks and Suites (Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speirs and Lipton serve as an inspiration. Or: How Major Dick Winters and Captain Lewis Nixon ended up on a desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Lewis Nixon never had the chance to say a word before his back hit the wall and Dick Winters was pressed against him from head to toe, one leg between his thighs, mouth sealed firmly over Lew's. Not that Nixon minded, he actually liked – no _loved_ – it when the primal side of the always-in-control Dick Winters came out. When it took over his mind, made him passionate and fierce and so incredibly intense that it took Lew's breath away. Literally.

It was exactly what he felt when Dick's firm body touched his, not gentle or tender, but hot and forceful. Dick's tongue in his mouth was demanding, freely taking what Lew had to give. And Lew would give him _everything_.

Lew groaned into the hot mouth on his, unable to resist the sparks that shot through his whole body at the feverish touch of fingers in his hair, tangling in it, pulling his head back so Dick could intensify the contact. It rarely happened that Dick became so focussed on touching that he let go of his rational mind, of his cautious nature, of his prudence. Whatever had happened to cause this, Lew hoped it would happen again. He loved to surrender to Dick's passion, loved not being the one initiating contact, but to be the one receiving it. To be shown with every touch that he was wanted. Desired. Being the centre of Dick's attention did things to him that he would never be able to put into words. 

It was the strongest aphrodisiac he knew.

Dick was single-minded in his pursuit of skin, his fingers working on Lew's shirt, opening the buttons and removing the fabric as quickly as possible. Then his fingers pulled on the cotton undershirt, taking hold of the hem and jerking it over Lew's head. As soon as the bare skin was exposed, Dick's hands were on it, followed closely by his mouth. Lew was almost overwhelmed by the unusually demanding behaviour, but it also fired his own arousal like nothing else ever could. His hands had found their way under Dick's shirt, had pulled it out of his trousers, and were now taking care of the many buttons. He wanted the fabric gone, wanted to feel nothing but Dick's hot skin against his own. He freely admitted that he was addicted to the feeling of Dick's bare skin, it was even more tempting to him than a whole crate of Vat 69. 

“Desk.” It seemed to be the only word Dick was able to get out, more a growl than an actual word, and he pushed Lew backwards until he had him pressed against the hard oak surface. Lew finally got the last button undone and pushed the shirt off the strong shoulders without paying any attention to where it landed. He was just about to reach for the belt when Dick bent down and took hold of his thighs, lifting him up on the table without any real effort. For a moment, Lew was taken by surprise, but he forgot about it as soon as Dick's hands connected with the bare skin of his waist, pulling him in, his legs to each side of Dick's hips. Their groins came flush together and even through four layers of clothes, Lew felt the hardness that answered his own and he pressed against it with single-minded determination. It wasn't enough though, so he raised his legs and wrapped them around Dick's waist, resolutely pulling him closer. Ohhh yes, that was more like it. 

Dick groaned into his mouth, one hand tightening into a fist in Lew's hair, the other slipping under the waistband of Lew's trousers and his shorts, his callused fingers finding bare skin, making Lew shiver with desire. He knew what Dick wanted, he knew what _he_ wanted, and it matched perfectly. He also knew they'd never make it to the bedroom, but that didn't bother him in the least, because he had every confidence that the desk would be able to take it. 

Lew's fingers found the belt he'd intended to open before Dick had lifted him onto the desk, undoing it and then continuing with the buttons. He pushed the fabric down as far as he could, then his hand found Dick's erection and wrapped around it in a firm grip. Dick's hips bucked involuntarily and his mouth let go of Lew's to open in an almost silent groan, then his head sagged down to rest on Lew's shoulder.

“Lew!” Dick's voice was hoarse as if he'd been screaming for hours, his breath hot against Lew's neck where his lips pressed against his skin. “God, yes, Lew...”

Every teasing stroke made him ramble, random words with Lew's name inbetween, and Lew enjoyed every single one of them, enjoyed the knowledge that _he_ was the one who'd made Dick lose his control, that it was _his_ touch that made Dick go incoherent with pleasure. Dick's fingers worked on Lew's belt, opening it and pulling at his trousers in an attempt to get rid of them. It was bound to be unsuccessful as long as Lew was sitting on them, so Lew leaned back until he lay flat on the wood, raising his hips in an invitation that Dick understood immediately. His hands grabbed the fabric and pulled, and Lew was infinitely grateful he'd taken off his boots earlier when he'd returned to the suite. With Lew's help, Dick removed the ODs and carelessly threw them behind him. That little act alone told Lew more about the state of Dick's arousal than any words could have.

When Lew looked up, he found Dick's gaze travelling over his body that was spread out on the desk in front of him. Dick's lips were red and swollen from their fierce kisses, his eyes were hooded and dark with desire, his gaze burning with so much emotion that it made Lew shiver. His hand extended slowly, following the path of his eyes, wandering over Lew's body in a caress that seemed to claim every bit of skin it touched. Lew couldn't help trembling under the gentle but firm ministrations, his gaze caught in those intense eyes that were nearly black now, pupils blown so wide that there was hardly any blue left. Dick's hands wandered lower, passed over his stomach, down his flanks, towards the insides of his thighs and continued upwards. Then his fingers found what they'd been looking for, caressing, teasing, asking for permission without ever saying a word.

Lew pressed into the touch, giving his answer, and Dick accepted it immediately. He sank down on his knees in front of the desk, sliding out of Lew's range of vision. Before Lew could even miss the sight of him, he felt the hot wetness of Dick's mouth on his entrance, felt the firm touch of his tongue. Lew's eyes closed with a groan he couldn't suppress and he was lost in the pleasure of the wet hot tongue licking inside him, teasing him, preparing him. Dick had never done that before, and Lew revelled in the intimate contact. There wasn't much that compared to the feeling of Dick Winters on his knees for him, with his tongue inside him, his hands firmly on Lew's butt. The image alone blew his mind.

Lewis knew now that he'd experienced this, he would never be able to get enough. It took only a few minutes and he was so close that he had to fight the urge to just let go and come, even without Dick ever touching his erection. It was only his mouth, his tongue and his fingers at Lew's entrance. It was perfect.

“Dick...” Lew had to clear his throat at the gravelly sound of his voice. “Dick, if you don't stop now, this will be over.”

Dick gave a last lick, then he stood up and Lew couldn't help appreciating the view. There was a flush that spread all over Dick's upper body, his trousers were bundled somewhere around his knees and he was hard beyond measure. The droplets leaking from the head of his erection told Lew without a doubt that Dick had enjoyed this as much as he had, and Lew sat up, giving in to his sudden urge to pull Dick towards him for a thorough kiss, his hands tangling in the short red hair. Dick returned his kiss fiercely, his moan disappearing between their lips, and Lew deepened the contact even further. Just the thought of what Dick had done with his tongue only moments ago made Lew ache with desire.

Lew wrapped his legs around Dick's waist again and pressed against his erection, leaving no doubt of what he wanted. “Now, Dick.” 

At his words, he felt a shudder pass through Dick's body. “Lew...”

Dick let go of him to spit in his hand, coating himself and spreading some more with his fingers inside Lew. His eyes were focussed on Lew's face, his mouth agape with his lips deep red from kissing. Lew sank down again until his back touched the cool wood, his hands reaching over his head and searching for the edge of the desk, grabbing it, holding on tightly. Then he felt Dick entering him, slowly despite his obvious desire to just pound in. But Lew didn't want slow, he wanted Dick to lose his control, wanted him to let go, so he hooked his legs around him tighter and pulled Dick in. He was rewarded with a hoarse growl and Dick's eyes falling shut, his face an image of mindless pleasure. For just a second, Dick was still, then his hips started moving, and there was nothing careful about his thrusts now. Lew's head fell back on the hard wood surface of the desk. Yes, that was what he'd wanted.

Then Dick hit that one spot and Lew couldn't help it, his back arched with a hoarse moan, his eyes closed and his sole focus was on the sensation of Dick's fingers on his hips, grabbing too hard and leaving marks; on the low sounds Dick couldn't hold back and that made Lew go crazy; on his frantic thrusts that hit home every single time and made Lew see stars behind his closed eyelids. It was intense and all-encompassing and _possessive_ in a way he'd only experienced once – that one time in Holland after he'd been hit by the stray bullet. That night, when they were finally alone, Dick had lost it, had claimed him in a way that left no doubt who Lew belonged to. He'd given himself over to Dick with a fierceness he hadn't even known he was capable of. Seeing Dick like that had told him everything he'd needed to know about how Dick felt about him.

“Lew, look at me.” Dick's voice was nothing like its usually controlled and cool sound, it was dark and rough and felt like a caress, and Lew couldn't do anything but follow the gentle command. When he opened his eyes, he was met by Dick's gaze, open and honest, holding nothing back. It was what pushed him over the edge with a groan that came from deep within his throat. His world went white, all sound seemed to disappear, his whole focus only on the intense pleasure that coursed through him. He felt Dick's frantic thrusts shake his body, and when he could see again, he found Dick's gaze still focussed on his face, his eyes a mirror of his feelings. “God, Lew. So beautiful.” 

With that, Dick followed him in climax, his face showing such deep satisfaction that it filled Lew with awe. He knew he was the only person who ever got to see this side of Dick Winters; the wild side full of emotions and desires, the possessive side that claimed Lew as much as it wanted to be claimed by him in return. 

Dick sagged down as if all energy had suddenly left his body, and his head came to rest on Lew's chest. They were both breathing heavily, trying to recover, and Lew loosened his grip on the edge of the desk and let his arms wrap around Dick's back. For a long time, neither moved, comfortable in their closeness, not caring about the drying mess between their bodies or the sweat cooling on their skin. At some point, Lew felt Dick slide out of him and though he missed the connection he didn't bother to move, too spent to do anything about it. 

Only when his breath had long since returned to normal and he began to notice the unforgiving hardness of the wooden desktop against his back, he asked what he'd been wondering all along. “Where did _that_ come from?”

For a moment Dick didn't react, then he murmured against the skin of Lew's chest, “Just look at Speirs' neck when you see him next.” 

Lew grinned, his hand carding through Dick's hair, messing it up even more. “What, Lip left him a message again?”

He felt Dick nod and heard him mumble, “Something like that.”

“Care to elaborate?” Lew teasingly pulled on a red strand. When he didn't get a reply, he raised his head so that he could look at Dick who had moved so that his chin was resting on Lew's chest. There was a fierce blush spreading over his neck and up to his cheeks and he was obviously unable to fight it down. Lew just smirked. “Now I _really_ want to know.”

“Lew...”

“Tell me, Dick.” Lew interrupted, his expression and his voice stern, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief. “Now.”

Dick sighed, and Lew knew he'd accepted that Lew wouldn't let it go until he'd got an answer. “Have you ever had the misfortune of having to listen to two of your subordinate officers having sex in the room next door?”

“What?!” Nixon blurted out, stunned speechless for a whole ten seconds. Then he just had to laugh. “You mean, Speirs and Lip were getting it on while you were right next to them?”

Dick nodded, eyes closed, now blazing red. Lew just laughed harder. The idea was just too hilarious. Especially with _Dick_ being the one who'd been involuntarily turned into a peeping Tom – or rather listening Tom, in this case. Lew could picture him in his mind, hands over his ears and trying to block out the sounds he wasn't supposed to hear while his face turned the colour as his hair. Oh, Lew would have loved to see that.

“Why did you listen, anyway?” Lew asked with a huge grin when he'd finally regained his breath enough to form words. 

“I was stuck! I couldn't leave because I was in the last room of the suite and they were between me and the exit.” Dick explained and almost sounded offended that Lew might think he would have listened if there had been a way to leave.

“Ah, come on, admit that you secretly liked it.” Lew hadn't thought it possible, but Dick's blush actually intensified. Lew chuckled and was rewarded by a shiver that ran through Dick's body. “Oh, I love how naughty your mind can be, Dick.”

Dick groaned as if in pain and hid his face against Lew's chest. But Lew wouldn't have any of it. He cupped Dick's jaw and made him look up. Then he grinned, his voice low and teasing. “It's sexy as hell, Dick.”

At that, Dick groaned again, but this time it obviously wasn't in pain, it was a sound so dark and rough that Lew was almost sorry he'd already come. Because that noise was enough to make every single one of his nerve endings flare. “I love it when you get all passionate and possessive, you know that?”

“Don't say things like that when we've just come, Lew.” Dick complained in a low voice, and his eyes began to burn again. “It's frustrating when I can't properly react to it.”

Lew laughed. “I'll remember to repeat them later, then. Because I can't react properly now, either.” 

Dick snorted and propped himself up on his elbows. “Good to know. Otherwise I would have had to seriously doubt my stamina.”

Lew chuckled and trailed his finger through the drying mess on his stomach. “Oh, don't worry, I'm more than happy with your stamina.” 

Dick smirked and straightened up. “Come on, let's get off the desk and over to the bed.”

“Only if you carry me.” Lew replied and stretched lavishly on the rich wood of the desk. He was aware of Dick's eyes following his every movement, and he enjoyed the gaze as if it was a caress.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “I can try. But you're not exactly a light man, Lew, and I don't trust my knees as it is.”

“All right, all right, I'll walk.”

Dick extended his hand and Lew took it and let himself be pulled up into a sitting position. He couldn't help a flinch at the sore feeling of his backside, and he knew Dick had noticed when his gaze immediately turned concerned. “Did I...?”

“If you ask me now if you hurt me, I'm going to hit you, Dick.” Lew interrupted before Dick could even finish the sentence. He glared for good measure and after a moment, Dick gave in and smiled a little.

“I'll take that as a 'no', then.”

“You do that.” Lew replied and slid off the desk. “And now get us some water and a wash cloth. I don't want to get into the sheets this filthy.”

Dick bowed with a smirk. “Your wish is my command.”

Lew chuckled and watched how Dick bent down to undo his boots and step out of his trousers, then he walked through the suite in his full naked beauty to retrieve the water bowl and the wash cloth from the dresser by the door. His movements were graceful, his lean frame strong and powerful, his pale skin sprinkled with freckles, his red hair blazing in the sunlight coming through the windows. He was beautiful to Lew, more beautiful than anything he'd ever seen, and it was a view he knew he'd never tire of. 

When Dick came back with the bowl in his hands, his eyes rested on the desk and he smirked. “I'll never be able to look at that desk again without thinking about today.”

Lew just grinned and patted the dark wood with one hand. “You'd better not invite Sink here for a meeting then. Ever.”


	14. Of Rage and Revenge (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's just too much. Or: When Grant is shot, Doc Roe watches Captain Speirs struggle for control.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

“Medic!”

The shout came only moments before a private burst through the door. Eugene was on his feet and moving before he had even thought about it, grabbing his bag and running out towards the jeeps. His reaction to that specific word was so deeply ingrained that it had become an instinct, even here in Austria where he wasn't needed that often anymore.

They drove at breakneck speed and reached their destination within minutes. Eugene was out of the jeep before it had even stopped, jumping over the side and running towards the motionless body on the muddy street. He ignored Talbert sitting next to Grant, just focussed on his work, doing the best he could to keep Grant alive. He didn't want anybody else dying under his hands. Not now that the war was over.

They got Grant on the jeep and headed for the sports hall that served as an improvised aid station – only that it was empty, there hadn't been many gravely wounded since they'd arrived in Austria. Eugene was surprised to find Captain Speirs waiting for them at the entrance, his expression dark and dangerous, a deep frown on his face. The man wordlessly took the handles of the stretcher while Talbert took the other side and they carried Grant inside, Gene walking next to them with the plasma bottle in his raised hand.

The Captain displayed a great deal more control than Eugene had expected him to show. He was wound up tight as a spring, everybody could sense that, but obviously his first priority was getting done what had to be done in order to get Grant to survive. He held back when Eugene had been worried he'd explode. When the surgeon had told them there was no hope for Grant in this flippant tone of voice that showed that he couldn't care less if his patient lived or died. Eugene watched how the Captain gritted his teeth, obviously tempted to physically hurt the surgeon, but then he seemed to come to a decision and regained his focus. Only seconds later, they were back on the road.

When, after what seemed an eternity but was only half an hour according to Eugene's watch, they'd found the German brain surgeon, Gene remained seated on the hood of the jeep, the plasma bottle firmly in his raised hand, and he wondered what the Captain intended to do. The German surgeon opened the door after only a minute, and the Captain forced him outside with his gun raised. The surgeon wasn't intimidated that easily, though, and within seconds he proved that he cared more for his patient, no matter what his nationality, than he was concerned about an angry soldier with a weapon. Eugene couldn't help feeling respect towards the man, but he wasn't sure how much more the Captain was willing to take before he would hurt somebody.

Gene watched how the muscle in Captain Speirs' jaw twitched and worried that it wouldn't take much more to break his restraint. He respected the Captain, but Gene had always been able to see the violence that ran close under the surface, held in check only by Speirs' tight control. He was sure that none of them wanted to know what would happen should it ever fail. 

The way to the hospital took only a few minutes, and the surgeon proved his word right by manoeuvring at a speed and with a certainty neither Gene nor Captain Speirs could have managed. Eugene and the Captain followed the stretcher inside the hospital, but in the hallway, they were held back by a resolute nurse. It was obvious that there was nothing more they could do. Eugene had passed on everything he knew to the surgeon on the drive, and now it was up to the hospital staff to save Grant. Before the surgeon disappeared through the doors to the operation room, he gave a reassuring nod to repeat without words what he'd already said on the ride: He thought Grant could make it. 

Eugene remained behind the Captain, watched his restless, barely controlled movements. They spoke of too much pent up energy, of rage, of indecision. It lasted only a few moments, though, then the Captain's posture straightened, and it was as if Gene could see the cold aggression settle over him like a blanket. He turned, his face a mask of barely controlled rage, his eyes burning, and Gene felt a shiver run down his spine. When he passed Eugene with brisk, angry steps, the Captain pressed out between clenched teeth, “I will kill that piece of shit.”

This would turn ugly pretty quickly, Gene just knew it. He had a bad feeling about this, so he turned on his heel and hurried after the Captain, not only because he needed a ride back anyway, but also because there was only one person who Eugene thought might be able to contain Captain Speirs' violent streak, and he had to get to them before the Captain's restraints snapped for good. 

He had to find Lieutenant Lipton.

“Captain, can you take me back with you?” Eugene asked, taking good care to mask the worry in his voice and his eyes. The Captain looked up from where he was about to climb into the jeep, stared at Gene for a long moment, the he gave a curt nod without ever saying a word. Gene jumped in, and the Captain had pulled out before he was even properly seated. They were back at the hotel after only a few minutes, and the Captain stopped in front of the stairway and was gone as soon as he'd turned off the motor. He took two steps at a time, gun ready in his hand, and he disappeared into the hall before Gene had even reached the bottom of the stairs. 

Eugene broke out in a run. He had to find the Lieutenant _now_ , or it was going to be too late. For once in his life, he was really lucky, because he almost ran into the man he was searching when he turned the corner to the officers' quarters on the first floor. Eugene ground to a halt, actually grabbing the Lieutenant's arm in order to avoid losing his balance.

“Lieutenant Lipton!”

“Eugene.” Lipton had a worried frown on his face. He'd never seen Gene so agitated. “What is it?”

“Grant was shot.” Gene replied while already pulling him towards the stairs. “And the Captain is on the edge.”

Lipton had fallen into step with him before Eugene even had the chance to finish his sentence. He understood, just like Gene had known he would. “Lead the way.”

Eugene walked in long strides, the dread rising with every second. 

“How is Grant?” Lipton asked while they hurried down the flight of stairs.

“He was shot in the head by a drunken soldier, sir.” Eugene replied quickly. “The Captain ordered the men to find the shooter.”

Lipton was quiet for moment when they turned towards the hall where they could already see a cluster of men gathered. “Find him dead or alive?”

“I don't know, sir.” Gene didn't add that it could go both ways. The Lieutenant knew that just as well as he did.

It was eerily quiet when they approached the room. Gene followed Lipton who headed straight for the door, as if he knew that the Captain was there. He pushed the door open and entered, the men clearing the way for him silently. Eugene stopped behind him and couldn't help breathing in sharply when he took in the scene inside the room. The man who'd shot Grant, more a child, really, sat on the chair in the back of the room, beaten bloody and surrounded by the men. The Captain stood right in front of him, the lines of his body tense, his gun pointed at the shooter's head.

It was as if the Captain knew Lipton was there, knew without turning, without seeing him. His arm began to shake ever so slightly. Gene knew that it was caused by the strain to keep himself from pulling the trigger. Then the Captain looked at the blood on his hand and his gun, smeared it on the private's shoulder and turned away from him. His gaze found Lipton's, their eyes locked for a moment, and Gene felt as if they were having an entire conversation, before the Captain closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pulling his cap off his head. The tension didn't entirely leave his body, but it receded.

The Captain turned and made his way towards the door, back straight and steps stiff, saying to nobody in particular, “Have the MPs take care of that piece of shit.”

Eugene felt the agony in the air, felt the men realising that Grant must have died, and it was Talbert who actually dared to ask. “Grant's dead?”

“No.” The Captain stopped, turning back and holstering his gun, and he didn't look that murderous any more. “Kraut surgeon says he's going to make it.”

Gene watched the Captain leave the room, passing Lipton and giving him another short glance, before he disappeared through the door without saying another word. The Lieutenant turned to follow, his concerned gaze finding Eugene's. “Gene, please, take care of the men.”

Eugene just nodded and stared after the Lieutenant's retreating form, relief slowly setting in. This had been a close call. 

Very close.

*** 

Ron felt the cold air wash over him when he left the building. He didn't stop until he'd reached the parapet of the terrace that overlooked the lake. It was dark, only the reflection of the moonlight indicated where the water was. Ron leaned against the low stone wall, taking a deep breath. Inside the building, he'd felt as if the walls were suffocating him, as if the only relief was to take the life of that worthless bastard who'd shot Grant. It had taken him _everything_ to turn away without the satisfaction of knowing that damn replacement dead.

Behind him, Ron heard footsteps, approaching him slowly, but he didn't bother to turn around. He'd known Carwood would follow him. A moment later, a familiar silhouette leaned against the parapet about a foot away from him without saying a word. They stood in silence, and Ron was astonished how well Carwood knew him, knew that Ron couldn't have dealt with physical contact, with meaningless conversation. All he needed was Carwood's reassuring presence beside him, knowing that he was there. 

Ron couldn't have said how much time had passed before Carwood spoke. His gaze was directed at the darkness, somewhere at the lake, and his words were soft and quiet, meant only for Ron's ears. “Thank you.”

It took Ron a moment to find his voice. It felt as if he hadn't spoken in years. “What for?”

Carwood didn't look at him, and Ron was grateful for it. “For not pulling the trigger.”

“I should have.” he replied, his voice as quiet as Carwood's. “He deserved it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Carwood nod. “Maybe he did.”

“Then why do you thank me?” Ron asked into the darkness.

Carwood was silent for a moment, then he sighed deeply and turned to face him. “The war is over, Ron. We are expendable now.” 

Ron nodded. “I know.”

“They would have you court-martialled you had you shot him.” Carwood's eyes were filled with sincere worry, and it made Ron's insides clench to know that it was for him.

“I know.” He said again, then he added, “That wasn't what stopped me, though.” For a moment, Ron was worried that Carwood might actually ask him what had. He himself knew, but he wasn't certain he wanted to say it aloud.

As if he was aware of it, Carwood didn't ask. He caught Ron's gaze and held it, eyes serious. “Whatever the reason, I'm just glad you didn't shoot.”

Ron nodded slowly, but didn't reply. He felt a shiver run down his back, the same shiver he'd felt when he'd become aware of Carwood's presence in the room at the hotel, when he'd had his gun pointed at the replacement's head, ready to end his life. When, for the first time in his life, he'd become aware that he had a reason _not_ to pull the trigger. 

Ron turned to look over the lake again, and the silence stretched between them for a long time. It wasn't uncomfortable, it was the kind of silence you can only have with people who understand you without words. He'd had that kind of silence with Carwood ever since their first meeting, Ron recalled, and it had only become more comfortable in the course of time. It was part of the reason he hadn't fired. As was Carwood's honest affection, his calm reassurance, his fierce loyalty. His smile that turned his whole face radiant, made his eyes glow. Ron never wanted to be the cause for that smile to disappear.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at Carwood. “You are worth far more than that bastard's death.” 

When Carwood smiled, that silent smile only Ron got to see, he knew he'd made the right decision.


	15. Of Differences and Similarities (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation in Zell am See. Or: How Lipton and Speirs come to an understanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Sometimes, Ron wondered if there were two different people living in Carwood Lipton's body. There was the man he was as Easy's Second Lieutenant: caring and kind, yet strict where he had to be, without ever raising his voice or pulling his rank. This man was a little bit innocent and possessed such a deep and sincere decency that it always took Ron by surprise, every single time.

The man on the battlefield, in the heat of combat, was an entirely different person. He was as efficient and as concerned for the men as the other Lipton, but he was more ruthless, more daring. A lot deadlier. He was a warrior to the core: his voice was darker, his commands were harsher. He had no soft side. He was the man Ron wanted to know had his back when they were in combat.

Maybe there were even three people, Ron mused. The man who shared his bed – or his bedroll, depending on the situation –, the man who showed him his affection with an ease that sometimes left Ron breathless, was so different from the man on the battlefield or the Second Lieutenant. He was open in a way the others were not. He smiled easily. He dared to touch because he knew his touch would be welcome. There was no professional façade when that man came out, there was only genuine emotion and deep, satisfying kisses that were so much more than just a touch of lips. 

It was this man whom Ron trusted with something he valued more than his life: his own, sincere emotions. He knew that a bullet could never tear him apart in the way Carwood Lipton could. In fact, a bullet would hurt less. He also knew that Carwood would never let that happen, knew deep down in his stomach, in that corner where the instincts lived, that Carwood would always keep that part of him safe, treasure it and protect it with his life. 

Just like Ron would do anything to keep him safe. He'd never expected to meet somebody whom he'd give his unconditional trust, but Carwood had made him do many thing he'd never expected to do. Like watching Carwood sleep and reflecting on how his life had changed since their rather accidental meeting.

He loved doing that: watching Carwood sleep, content and spent after hours of love-making, sometimes slow, sometimes passionate. There was a little smile on Carwood's lips, even now in sleep, and Ron couldn't stop looking at him. He was so beautiful, so perfect, with all his flaws, with all his scars, visible and invisible. He was strong and supportive, passionate and earnest, sometimes deliciously debauched yet always decent. He was never afraid of Ron. He stood up to Ron's moods, to his faults, and told him when he was wrong. Yet Ron knew he'd always have his back, knew that he could always rely on Carwood's fierce loyalty, his profound yet subtle protectiveness.

He was everything Ron had ever wanted. Everything Ron had never expected he'd want. 

With a smile, one that he rarely ever showed, Ron passed a finger over Carwood's brows, along his nose, to his beautiful lips. He traced along the reddish scar on Carwood's cheek. Although he hadn't really known him back when it had happened, Ron still felt a pull inside him, this painful little clenching of his intestines, when he thought about how close he'd come to never meeting this man. Earlier this evening Ron had paid homage to the big brother of this scar, down on the inside of Carwood's right thigh, as red and puckered as the one on his face, but so much more sensitive to his touch. It made Carwood shiver when Ron let his tongue trail its itinerary, made his eyes fall shut and his breath come in stutters. Ron loved seeing him like that, open and vulnerable and trusting. 

Slowly, Ron let his fingers wander over the light stubble on Carwood's jaw, over his neck and into his hair. He was rewarded with a slight widening of that beautiful little smile, although Carwood didn't wake. Ron lay down close to him, let his head come to rest on Carwood's pillow, and he slid his hand over the skin of his shoulder. Carwood made a small noise and pressed closer, until he lay along Ron's side, one arm wrapped possessively around his waist. Ron just smiled again, tightened his hold on Carwood's shoulder, and closed his eyes. 

*** 

Carwood enjoyed the quiet of the early morning. Even more so, he enjoyed the peace of Zell am See, the solitude and the tranquillity that came with having a private room. He enjoyed the distance from the men that allowed him to lie there, propped up on his elbow, naked under the sheets except for his dog tags, one leg draped over Ron's, pressed along his side. 

Watching him sleep, all guards down. Beautiful in the trust he showed.

It was a trust that Carwood knew he was the only person to experience. It humbled him, made him feel small and huge at the same time, made him feel protective in a way he had never experienced with anybody before. At first he hadn't realised how much of a privilege he was given, hadn't realised that this favour was exclusive, given to him alone. Ron never did anything halfway. Now Carwood understood that he didn't give himself halfway, either. 

Ron gave everything or nothing.

Sometimes, when they were alone, Ron surprised him. With his openly displayed affection. With his need to touch that he seemed to be unaware of. With the ease of his smile. With the warmth in his eyes and in his every touch. Those were things Carwood never saw him display outside of their enclosed bubble of rare privacy. It made them all the more precious, made every caress all the more significant, made every smile all the more important.

Carwood looked down to where his hand rested on Ron's chest, palm flat against the warm skin. He loved how Ron reacted to his touch. How he turned passionate and fierce in their lovemaking. How he let go of his control and trusted Carwood to take it. How he surrendered to Carwood just because he knew he could, because he loved it and trusted Carwood to never abuse the vulnerability he allowed to show. Sometimes Carwood wondered what made Ron trust him so much. 

Times were hard, it was war – or had been, until a few weeks ago – and the bonds forged under the duress of these circumstances were bound to be different from anything anyone could experience in the normal, civilised world. A world far away from the mindless violence, the countless death and the immense cruelty a person couldn't even begin to imagine if they hadn't seen it. But this went deeper even than those bonds, and Carwood knew that whatever would happen after their time in Austria, he wouldn't be able to return state-side and go on with the life he'd led before the war. He wouldn't be able to forget about the things he'd experienced in Europe.

He would _never_ able to forget Ron. Ever. 

What he didn't know was what he was supposed to do once their service was over. He'd lived inside those military boundaries for so long that he found it difficult to imagine a life without them. He didn't know what Ron would do, either. Carwood's gaze fell on the dog tags that lay against the skin of Ron's chest, and he reached out slowly and passed his finger over the metal. It was warm from Ron's body heat, the letters little elevated dots against his fingertips. There were scratches on the surface, dents on the edges, stains caused by sweat and blood that never truly washed away.

Ron would most likely stay in the military. Carwood's hand pressed flat over the dog tags, then his fingers curled around them. Ron shifted slightly, then he took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Carwood looked at him, gaze serious, his hand fisted tightly around Ron's dog tags. “I won't ever let you go.”

Ron looked at him sleepily for a moment, then a beautiful warm smile appeared on his lips and he closed his hand over Carwood's. “Who says I want you to?”


	16. Of Wives and Vows (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things have never been said aloud before. Or: Speirs and Lipton have a conversation they've been avoiding forever.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

The air was heavy from the last warmth of the day mingled with the smell of sweat and sex. Ron's eyes were closed and he focussed on his breathing that was slowly returning to normal. Beneath his face he felt the heat coming off the skin of Carwood's chest which was still heaving in slowly receding pants. Under his fingers he felt Carwood's hair where he had his hands tangled in the short blond strands, and his nose filled with the delicious scent of 'Carwood' every time he took a breath. Around him, he felt the strong circle of Carwood's arms, the hands splayed on his back, holding on firmly even in the aftermath of climax.

Carwood had slipped out of him a few moments ago and Ron wished he hadn't, wished he could still have the addictive sensation of being filled, desired, claimed. He loved the feeling, had craved it ever since he'd first touched Carwood. He loved to feel Carwood's strength under his fingers, loved to finally let go of his tight control and to give in to Carwood's touches, his bites and nips, his intense way of claiming Ron. It was a kind of aggressive and possessive behaviour he only ever showed when they were intimate together. It made Ron go wild. He loved to know that he was the only person who ever got to see this side of Carwood. He loved to know that he could fall apart under those fingers and trust Carwood to piece him back together afterwards. 

He felt the hands on his back slowly caress his skin, a light touch that made goosebumps spread all over his body. Carwood pressed a kiss on top of his head, tightening his arms around Ron. “Satisfied?”

“Hmmm.” Ron hummed, too content to bother with words. He smiled against the skin under his lips, knowing Carwood would feel it. He was rewarded with a low chuckle and another press of lips to his hair. They lay underneath the soft sheets on the bed in Ron's room, enjoying the heavy satisfaction of aftermath, slowly recovering from earlier activities. Or from the wild ride, Ron thought and couldn't help a grin at the double entendre. 

It was quiet for so long that Ron began to fall asleep. The steady rise and fall of Carwood's chest was comforting and reassuring, it made him relax more and more with every minute that passed. He was close to sleep when he heard Carwoods's quiet voice ask, “Ron, what are we going to do?”

The question surprised Ron. He heard a distinct note of worry in Carwood's voice and it woke him immediately, made him raise his head so that he could look at Carwood. He seemed as surprised about his words as Ron. It rarely happened that Carwood spoke before thinking things through, but this was obviously one of those rare times.

“What do you mean?” Ron asked in return, not entirely sure what Carwood was referring to. He didn't like jumping to conclusions just to find them proven wrong, so he waited for Carwood to elaborate – although Ron had to admit that he had a pretty good idea of what it was that Carwood was talking about.

“I know you have the points to return home.” Carwood said quietly, as if he had to force himself to say those words. “You have a wife and a son back in England. You have every reason to leave.”

Ron didn't reply immediately, instead he watched Carwood, took in the way his eyes were guarded and his brows were drawn together as if he was in pain; the way his hands pressed against Ron's skin and his arms seemed to hold on tighter, as if he was afraid Ron would just disappear. It told him everything Carwood had not put in words.

“I married her because I got her pregnant, Car. I certainly hadn't expected to find myself with a wife in England.” Ron replied after a moment, fixing Carwood with an intense gaze. He meant every word he said. “I knew I was leaving for war, and I expected not to survive. I decided I could just as well make an honest woman of her before I left. At least the boy would be covered, then.”

“That's where you've been sending all those things.” It was a statement, not a question, but Ron nodded anyway.

“What would I want with all that stuff?” Ron replied, knowing Carwood understood. War had a way of making a man modest. “But she needed it. She wasn't exactly rich, you know. Widow, second husband gone in war and a child to care for all on her own. It was the least I could do.”

Carwood was silent for a long time, and Ron could almost see him think. His left hand left Ron's back and came forward to fiddle with Ron's dog tags where they lay against Carwood's chest. It was an unconscious gesture, one that Carwood did a lot, and it always amused Ron. When Carwood looked up, he bit his lip before he asked almost silently, “You don't intend to go back?”

“I don't know,” Ron replied honestly. “I'm in no hurry.”

Carwood frowned. “But you have a _son_ , Ron.”

“I've never even seen him, Car. I was deployed before he was even born.” Ron just shrugged. “I wouldn't recognise him if he stood right in front of me.”

“Don't you want to get to know him? Be there for him and watch him grow up?” The frown was a notch deeper than before.

Ron considered the question for a moment. It was a good one, but he'd never given it much thought. “He's a stranger to me as much as I am a stranger to him. I _know_ he exists, but I have no real connection to him. I think he's better off with his mother than he would ever be with me.”

Carwood seemed to think about what he'd said, but didn't reply. Ron watched him for some time, watched the multiple shades of emotions run through his eyes. Carwood had very expressive eyes, especially when he didn't consciously mask his thoughts and emotions. It was one of the things Ron loved about him. His honesty with his words and his feelings. He had never tried to hide them from Ron, had never shut him out on purpose. Not even in Landsberg.

“I don't have what you would call a home, Car, not in the States and not in England. I have no reason to go back.” Ron explained after a long moment of silence. His words weren't sad or unhappy, they were just a simple statement of the truth. It was then that a thought occurred to him that made his stomach clench almost painfully. “You're a married man too, Car. And you have the points. Shouldn't you want to get back to your wife?”

Carwood looked at him, then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I'm not.”

Now it was Ron who frowned in confusion. “Not what?” 

Another sigh. “A married man.”

“But you've been wearing a wedding band all this time.” Ron replied, his confusion deepening, and his gaze darted to Carwood's left ring finger. The band was gone. There was no imprint on his skin either, and for a moment Ron wondered how long it had been gone without him noticing.

“I haven't been wearing it since Haguenau.” Carwood told him quietly, as if he had read Ron's thoughts. “She divorced me before Bastogne.”

Ron looked up, the frown still in place. “Why would she do that?”

Carwood laughed, but it wasn't a nice laugh. It was dark and bitter and almost cynical, something Ron had never heard from him before. He didn't like it at all. “Well, she got pregnant. And since I had been gone for more than nine months by then, it could hardly be mine, could it?”

Ron didn't know what to say to that. Deep inside, he felt an insane urge to make that woman suffer for hurting Carwood. For betraying his faith, his loyalty and his decency. Ron couldn't understand how anybody could ever do that to a man as good as Carwood.

“She knew she couldn't claim that it was mine, so she asked me for a divorce. As far as I know, she married the father of her child right after I had signed the papers.” He shrugged, and Ron could tell it wasn't as casual as Carwood wanted it to appear. 

Ron let his finger pass over the spot on Carwood's left ring finger where the ring had been. Deep inside him, he felt a profound pleasure, a _satisfaction_ , that the wedding band was gone. It was accompanied by a strong surge of possessiveness that Ron had been aware of for a long time. He considered Carwood his, and he knew it was true the other way around too. Although most people never realised it, Carwood _was_ a possessive man. He just didn't show it – apart from the bite marks Ron received every single time he came close to Carwood, he thought with a smirk. 

“Why did you keep wearing the ring?” Ron asked suddenly. He wondered what had made him take it off, but he didn't quite dare to ask.

Carwood shrugged and he actually looked embarrassed. “It was easier than to explain its absence.” He was silent for a moment, as if he was undecided if he wanted to go on, but then he added, “In Haguenau, after I woke up from the fever to find you there, I decided it was time to make the divorce final not only on paper but also in my mind.”

Haguenau. Ron still didn't like to think back to the time when Carwood had suffered from pneumonia. It made a shiver run down his spine to remember the violent coughing, the pained breathing, the fever-hot skin and the unhealthy paleness of Carwood's face. There was a knot forming in his stomach when he thought about the night when Doc Roe had looked at him with those all-knowing eyes that had told him that this night would decide whether Carwood survived. It had been so close. So incredibly close, and Ron had known it, had felt Carwood slowly slip over the edge, had done everything he could to pull him back. The next night, when Carwood had finally been coherent, Ron hadn't been able to let go of him when he'd lain in bed behind him. He'd been afraid he'd slip away again.

Ron shifted, rested his head on Carwood's chest and wrapped his arm around him to pull him close. The memories still haunted him and he felt the urge to touch to reassure himself that Carwood was there with him, that he was fine. As always, Carwood seemed to pick up on his mood immediately and his arms closed tighter around Ron, one hand carding through his hair in a soothing touch, the other slowly caressing the skin of his back. For a long moment, they just stayed like that, and Ron used the time to organise his thoughts. 

“I always wondered something.” Ron finally said and raised his head again to look at Carwood, trying to figure if he'd get an answer. “I can tell you've never slept with another man before. Or been intimate with one in any way.” 

It amused him to see the blush rising on Carwood's cheeks when he nodded. Just like Ron had expected. “What made you react to me?”

Carwood was quiet for a moment, then he snorted. “Luz.”

“What?” Ron could hear that his voice sounded just as surprised as he felt.

Carwood let out a slightly embarrassed sigh. “It was Luz who pointed out to me that you treated me differently.”

Interesting. “When was that?”

Carwood didn't even have to think about the answer. “A few days after Foy.”

Ron whistled through his teeth. “I'm impressed. He's a good observer.”

“Better than I, that much is certain.” Carwood replied with a shake of his head. “I never noticed a thing.”

“You can be quite oblivious sometimes.” Ron smirked and kissed Carwood's chest, then he looked up with a curious gleam in his eyes. “What exactly did he say?”

“He said that you listened to me. That you touched me while you never touched anybody else.” Carwood gave an amused chuckle. “That I could accept your cigarettes without having to worry about you killing me. I didn't believe him.” 

Ron grinned. He was beginning to see a whole new side of Luz. “That must have annoyed him.”

“It did. So he told me that if I didn't believe him, I should just pay attention. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it.”

“And?”

“Well, he _is_ a good observer. Everything he said was proven right pretty quickly.” Carwood smirked. “And then I couldn't stop staring at your throat.”

Ron laughed in surprise. “You what?”

“Come on, you must have realised by now that I really like your throat.” Carwood remarked with a grin and trailed a finger along the side of Ron's neck. Ron could only guess that it was the place of the most recent bite mark. He'd have to wear a scarf again tomorrow. 

“I think I should thank Luz for the service he did us.” Ron mused, a smirk on his lips.

Carwood chuckled. “Better not. You'd scare him to death.”

“I can be nice if I want to be.” Ron offered and Carwood's grin only widened.

“ _I_ know that, but I don't think that the boys do. You offer them a cigarette and they think you intend to shoot them.”

Ron chuckled. His reputation was still perfectly intact, then. “You may have a point.”

Carwood became serious, his hand beginning to play with Ron's dog tags again. “So what do we do now, Ron?”

“What do you want to do?” Ron asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I'll stay.” Carwood said quietly. “I won't leave as long as any of my boys are still stuck here.”

“It could mean that you'd have to go to the Pacific.” Ron pointed out, wanting to make sure Carwood was aware what his decision meant. He knew it wouldn't change Carwood's mind, though. 

“I know.” Carwood looked at Ron, studied him for a moment. “You're going to stay, and so am I. Neither of us is the type of man who'd leave anyone behind.” 

A slow smile spread over Ron's face. “No, we aren't.”


	17. Of Decisions and Choices (Speirs/Lipton, Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have the points to go home. Or: Speirs and Lipton decide what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

The sun was setting and the lighting of the lake was beautiful, creating an atmosphere of peace and calm that many of them absorbed and stored away for times when they'd need it. Times like Bastogne. They'd all learned to appreciate the small things in the course of the war, and Dick sometimes wondered if they were ever going to be able to shed the need for sun and warmth.

His gaze followed Malarkey, who had a huge smile plastered on his face, his eyes bright with joy at the prospect of going to Paris. Dick could still see the traces the war had left, though, could see the pain from losing his friends, from realising that life could be short and cruel. He just hoped Don would overcome the pain and learn to cherish the good memories. Dick believed he could, because Malarkey was a strong man.

“Sir?” Dick heard a voice ask next to him and he turned to face Lipton.

“Oh, yes, Carwood.” he said and offered a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I've come to a decision, sir.” Lipton replied with a little smile. “And I want to inform you that I wish to remain with the men.” 

“So you've decided to stay?” Dick asked, not really surprised. He'd guessed that Lipton wouldn't abandon the men, that he'd stay until he was sure they were all right.

Lipton nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“You have the points, Carwood.” Dick remarked, his voice serious. “You could go home.”

“I know, sir.”

For a moment, Dick wondered if he should ask a question he had no right to ask, then he decided to be frank. “Ron?”

Lipton was quiet for a moment, then he gave a smile. “I can't leave him alone to deal with Easy when I could have stayed, can I?”

“Easy is very lucky to have you.” Dick chuckled, then he added in a very low voice, “And so is Ron.” 

For a moment, Lipton seemed to be surprised by his words, then his smile softened. “Thank you, sir.”

“I mean it, Carwood.” Dick said seriously. “I'm glad to know the two of you are staying with us.”

“They're still my boys, sir.” Lipton replied equally serious. “I wouldn't leave any of them behind in the field, so why should I do it now that the worst is over?”

Dick couldn't help a smile. He was infinitely grateful that he had Lipton in the company. “That's what makes you such a good officer, Carwood.”

Lipton actually seemed a little embarrassed by the praise and there was a faint blush on his cheeks. “Thank you, sir. But I'm only doing my job.”

And coming from Carwood Lipton, this wasn't false modesty born of politeness. It was the way he really felt, and Dick knew he could never make him understand that _that_ was the reason Dick valued him so highly. So he just nodded in acceptance and went on to explain to Lipton about the reassignment that came with his battlefield commission, watching the small line of worry between Lipton's brows transform into a huge smile when he learned that Dick planned to assigned him to Battalion Headquarters. Dick knew where the worry had come from, knew about Lipton expecting to be sent away from Easy, away from Speirs. And Dick was more than happy to prevent that from happening. 

It wasn't until the next morning, down at the airfield after the speech of the German General, that Speirs approached him. Dick had been waiting for it ever since he'd spoken with Lipton, and before Speirs had even begun talking about how Easy needed a commanding officer after the war to keep them from killing each other, and how it should be somebody who knew what they were doing, Dick knew what the outcome would be. 

“I'm staying in the army, sir.” Speirs finally said when Dick stopped at the jeep he was going to drive back up to the hotel.

Dick just nodded. “I know.”

Speirs frowned in momentary confusion. “How could you?”

Dick gave a small smile heavy with meaning. “Lipton talked to me yesterday evening and he informed me of his decision to stay.”

“Yeah, so he told me.” Speirs nodded slowly, taking in the meaning hidden in Dick's words. “So you knew what I was going to say all along.”

Dick inclined his head. “I had an inkling.”

Speirs chuckled, then he shook his head, turning serious. “No. You _knew_.”

Dick accepted the offer of trust and nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Yes, I knew.”

Ron held his gaze, and there was something in it that made Dick think that this was a crucial moment, defining how they would treat each other for the rest of their lives. “Just like I knew Nixon would have gone with you to the Pacific.”

Dick wasn't too surprised Speirs knew about his application for transfer, and he had to admit that he wasn't too surprised Ron knew about him and Lew, either. He was surprised about himself, though, when he nodded slowly. “Yes. Exactly like that.”

Ron held his gaze for another moment, then he inclined his head in a respectful nod. “There never was a choice for us, was there?”

Dick had to smirk. “No, there wasn't.”

Ron returned his smirk, and it was the first time Dick had ever seen him smile for real, a smile that actually reached his eyes. “I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Dick sat down in the driver's seat, then he met Ron's eyes openly and smiled. “Neither would I.”

*** 

Luz leaned back against the tree, his cards held loosely in one hand, a pint of beer in the other. He had to admit, the Germans knew how to make a real good beer. Malarkey seemed to agree, considering that he was already on his fourth pint. But then again, they were celebrating his reassignment to Paris, so he had every right to get drunk. 

Liebgott and Bull were more than happy to join him in the drunk department. In fact, Luz was the only one who hadn't reached the fourth pint yet. He was working on it though. Maybe more alcohol in his blood stream would make him better at cards, because right now, he was getting a hell of a beating.

Perconte was even worse than the others, he'd just started on his sixth pint, and Luz couldn't help wondering where such a small man put all that booze without getting dumb-ass drunk. Because fact was, Perco was mugging them all at the moment. Life was not fair, really.

“Hey boys.” Babe greeted and stopped close to Bull, settling down on the grass next to him. “I've got some great news.”

Luz eyed him over his cards. “Shoot, then.”

“Lipton decided to stay with us.” Babe declared with a huge grin. “I heard how he and Speirs were talking about it on the terrace.”

Bull just shrugged and took another sip of his beer, abandoning his cigar for a moment. “Did you expect anything else? It's Lip. He'd never just leave us.”

“Yeah, just think of Haguenau.” Malarkey added and lowered his cards in favour of a drink. “He didn't even go to hospital when he was down with pneumonia, so did you really think he'd leave us just because the war is over and he has the points to go home?”

“True enough.” Babe agreed and reached into the water to steal one of the beer bottles they'd put into the lake to keep them cool. “Oh, but there's more.” 

“What?” Frank asked from where he was counting his winnings of the last game. Luz eyed him enviously. Really, a man who didn't even smoke shouldn't win that many packs of cigarettes.

Babe was just taking a deep gulp right out of the bottle – they'd only brought one glass each – and made a satisfied sound afterwards. “This stuff is good.”

“Yeah, we know.” Liebgott said and rolled his eyes. “That's why we've brought so much of it with us. So, you were saying?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Babe made a little pause and looked around. “Speirs is staying, too.”

“That's not a huge surprise either.” Luz remarked with a shrug, then he grinned. “I mean, Speirs leaving and Lip staying would be like... I don't know, Winters without Nixon.”

Bull snorted. “Yeah, that's never going to happen. I heard Nixon offered Winters a job in his family's enterprise and that he's planning to accept.”

Luz just shrugged again, distractedly looking at his really bad hand. “My understanding of the world would have crumbled if they'd just gone their separate ways after the war.”

“I think it's great to know that Lipton and Speirs are both going to stay.” Babe said before he took another huge gulp of his beer. He had a lot to catch up on them, after all. “I mean, imagine our two commanding officers being replaced at the same time. By another Dike, for example.”

“Please spare us.” Bull huffed around his cigar. “I don't think Easy can take another Dike.”

“Or Sobel.” Malark remarked from behind his cards.

“Oh, don't worry, kids!” Luz just grinned. “Mama Lip and Papa Speirs won't leave Easy.”


	18. Of Friendship and Gratitude (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The war is over. Or: The day Speirs offered Luz a pack of cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

The war was over. Japan had surrendered, there was no need for them to go to the Pacific. Everybody could go home.

The silence was absolute, nobody could really believe it, dared to believe it. Maybe it was the honest smile on the Major's face that made them realise that it was indeed true. Their time in Europe, in this insane war, had come to an end. Carwood glanced at Ron who stood in front of Major Winters and Captain Nixon, and he couldn't help wondering what would happen now. Ron and he had decided to stay together in the army, but that had been before the surrender of Japan, before the official end of the war. Now, the situation had changed entirely.

Ron returned his gaze, a quick look that told him that Ron had thought along the same lines, and somehow Carwood dreaded the conversation he knew was going to follow sooner or later. He had thought about this for a long time, even before Germany had surrendered, before he'd decided to stay with the boys. He had thought about what he would do should he ever leave the army. He wanted to study, wanted to finish the engineering degree he'd been obliged to abandon when there had been financial problems at home, long before he'd enlisted. 

He didn't know what Ron wanted to do, though. He didn't know if Ron even wanted to ever leave the army. He was a born soldier, same as Carwood knew that he himself wasn't. He wanted more, but he also wanted Ron. 

More than anything, he wanted to stay with Ron. 

When the men cheered and hugged in joy, Carwood joined in, although there was a shadow lying over his joy. Bull and Luz pulled him along with them, the baseball game forgotten. With a smile, Carwood listened to the men making plans of what they would do next. It was good to see them so relaxed and happy. Going home had been their greatest wish, and it had just been fulfilled. Carwood was glad and infinitely relieved to know that his boys were finally getting what they had wanted for so long.

It was late at night before Carwood had the chance to talk to Ron alone. The boys had dragged him along to their celebration and he had been in no position to refuse their enthusiastic and overjoyed invitation. He hadn't wanted to taint their well-deserved happiness even a bit. When he'd finally been able to get away without causing any grief, it had been well past midnight. 

He made his way to the part of the former hotel where the officers were quartered and took a quick look around to make sure he was alone before he knocked on Ron's door. It was pulled open almost immediately and Ron let him in, closing the door firmly behind him and turning the key in the lock. 

Carwood remained where he was, his back straight and his jaw clenched in nervousness. The whole evening he hadn't been able to shed the thoughts of what would happen now. Ron looked at him for a moment, then a slight frown appeared on his face.

“What is it, Car?”

“I...“ Carwood began, stopped, then licked his lip and started again. He had to get this right. “Would you like to come with me?” 

“Come with you?” Ron's face didn't betray a thing, and Carwood wondered how it was possible that sometimes, he still couldn't read him. “Where to?”

“Huntington.” Carwood blurted out before he could think about what he was doing and take it back. “I was thinking about taking a degree at Marshall University. Finish what I had begun before the war.”

Ron was silent, his eyes unreadable. It made Carwood even more nervous. He gathered all his courage and went on, “But I can't go without you, so I was hoping I might convince you to come with me.”

Ron didn't say anything for so long that Carwood began to fidget. Maybe he had overestimated what they had. Maybe things were different for Ron now that the war was over, now that they had survived and had a choice of what to do with their lives. Maybe he wanted to stay in the army. Maybe... 

“We will have to travel via England.”

Carwood's head jerked up at the sudden reply, and he wasn't sure what to make of it. “Is that a 'yes'?”

A smile tugged at Ron's lips, but his eyes were serious. “I remember what you promised at Eagle's Nest, Car.”

Carwood had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. He'd always assumed that Ron had no recollection of that evening, since he'd never said a word about it. He'd been drunk enough that a hole in his memory was likely, and Carwood hadn't dared to bring it up. But _he_ remembered. Remembered the press of Ron's nose against his skin. Remembered the warm breath touching his ear. Remembered Ron's soft plea to never leave him. 

And he remembered his own promise that he never would.

Carwood swallowed again, then he managed to press out, “You do?” 

“Yes.” The smile was gone from his lips, his gaze held Carwood's firmly. “Does your promise mean that if I said no, if I decided to stay in the military, that you would stay, too?”

Carwood didn't even have to think about it. “Yes.”

“That's all I need to know.” Ron smiled again, and this time it was sincere and made his eyes shine. “So, like I said, we'll have to travel to England first. There are things I have to get organised concerning my wife and my son.”

*** 

The war was over. Japan had surrendered, there was no need for them to go to the Pacific. Everybody could go home.

Luz still couldn't believe it. It seemed unreal, like something that would shatter into a million pieces at the exact moment he started believing it. He stared at the sun rising over the mountains and the lake and marvelled at the beauty of the place. Everything looked fresh and clean and _new_ and it made him aware of his own slightly deranged state. He'd celebrated with the boys throughout the whole night and had just now decided to go to bed. He stared at the bright colours of the sunrise and wondered how drunk he really was, because he was pretty sure he'd never seen a sunrise that colourful.

Well, he hadn't only consumed beer, after all. Beer had just been the beginning. Maybe that was the reason why the world was so bright and cheerful. Nixon, that awesome man, had joined them at some point, and he'd brought some very exquisite liquor with him, telling them that this was the perfect occasion to toast with Mister Göring's finest bottles. They had readily agreed, and then they'd all together taken care of said finest bottles. 

There had been _many_ bottles. 

Luz drew a deep breath of crisp morning air into his lungs and it gave him the illusion of sobering him up. He knew that wasn't technically possible – or should he say biologically, he wondered – but it still felt like his head was clearing with every breath. Well, except for the bright colours which stayed firmly in place.

“Good Morning.” There was a voice next to him, and it made Luz jump. He hadn't heard anybody approaching him, and when he turned and found Speirs standing next to him, he wasn't that surprised anymore that he hadn't heard anything. That man knew how to move like a shadow.

“Good Morning, sir.” Luz pressed out when he'd finally found his voice and regained his breath. Speirs held out a pack of Lucky Strikes to him - a new, unopened pack that was in a pretty good shape. All right, maybe Luz was more drunk than he'd thought and this was an apparition. Or a bad omen. It could be a dream that was informing him about his impending death. Luz stared at the pack as if it was going to bite him.

Speirs actually smirked, and that convinced Luz that it was indeed a dream. “I don't intend to kill you, Luz.”

Luz couldn't help being slightly embarrassed that Speirs had guessed what he'd thought, and to prove that he wasn't afraid he reached out and accepted the pack. Never mind if this was a dream or reality, he wasn't a coward.

Speirs' hand fell back to his side and he looked over the lake. “Consider it a note of thanks.”

Luz looked at the pack of cigarettes in his hand and wondered if he'd just signed his death warrant. “Thanks for what, sir?”

Speirs turned his head and looked at him until Luz finally met his gaze. “For opening a friend's eyes.”

Luz frowned in confusion. He didn't get what Speirs was referring to. His brain wasn't working properly at the moment, anyway, but Luz gave his best to figure out who and what Speirs was talking about.

Speirs watched him for a moment as if he knew exactly that Luz wasn't following, then he said in a low voice, “I assume you consider the Second Lieutenant your friend.”

Luz suddenly got it, and he couldn't help a chuckle. So there really _was_ something between Lip and the Captain. It hadn't been his imagination, then. It was the alcohol still in his bloodstream that made him bold, and so he said with a little bow, “You're welcome, sir.”

Speirs just inclined his head and turned to leave. Weird apparition, Luz thought. It hadn't even attempted to kill him, and wasn't that what a Speirs-illusion was for?

“Captain?” Luz decided to throw caution to the wind and be even bolder than he'd already been. He just had to satisfy his curiosity. “What are you going to do now?”

Speirs stopped, and despite the haze of drunkenness, Luz became a little nervous when the Captain turned around very slowly. If Speirs was going to kill him, he'd probably do it now. Apparition or not. 

One of Speirs' eyebrows was raised, but it seemed to be more in surprise than in threat, and to Luz' surprise, he actually answered the question. “I'm going to move to Huntington.”

Huntington. Lip's home town. It took Luz a moment, then he grinned. “Good choice, sir. I hear it's very nice in fall.”

Speirs actually returned his grin, and for a moment Luz couldn't help finding it rather scary. “I hear it's beautiful all year round.”

Luz laughed, surprised at the Captain's candour. So Speirs found Lip beautiful. That was something he could have teased Lip mercilessly with, but he knew he never would. “I guess that lies in the eye of the beholder.”

“So it does.” Speirs smirked, then he jerked his head at the building of the hotel behind them. “Now get to bed and sleep off all that alcohol you drank.” 

Luz stood where he was for another moment and marvelled at what his drunken mind came up with. Then he decided that he had pushed his luck enough for one meeting with The Incredible Speirs, whether he was real or an apparition. He gave a rather lax salute and made his way over to the hotel, paying more attention than usual to where he put his feet. When he woke several hours later to the meanest hangover he'd ever experienced, it was only the unopened, pristine pack of Lucky Strikes in his breast pocket that told Luz that the encounter with Speirs hadn't been a dream.

Since nobody would ever believe him that the Captain had actually thanked him for setting him up with Lip, Luz never mentioned a word of it to anybody.


	19. Of Goodbye and Welcome (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every end is a new beginning. Or: Speirs and Lipton build a new life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't find out if the day of the disbanding of Easy is correct, I only ever found the month, so I took the date I found for the disbanding of the 101st Airborne. I couldn't find out much about Lipton's family either, apart from what wiki gives us, so don't kill me if I invented some things and characters. I gave Lip a younger brother (John, 22 y.) and a younger sister (Emily, 19 y.), although I have no idea if he really had them. There will be more about them in the next part ^^
> 
> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

When Easy Company was disbanded on November 30th 1945, Second Lieutenant Carwood Lipton stood in the first line, back straight, shoulders squared, head held high and eyes directed at Major Winters. With a final salute, Carwood said his goodbye to his time in the military. Next to him, Ron saluted as well.

They were saying goodbye together.

*** 

When they disembarked the train at Huntington Main Station about twenty days later, Carwood was surprised to see not only his brother in the crowd, but his mother as well. He hadn't expected her to make the straining journey to the station in her wheelchair, hadn't expected her to voluntarily enter the crowded platform. He knew how much she hated to be in the middle of the station, knew how much it exhausted her to be around so many people. Somehow, just her presence made Carwood feel more welcome than any words could have.

His hand grabbed his duffel bag a bit tighter and his gaze found Ron's for a short moment. Carwood smiled at him, telling him with his eyes how happy he was about Ron coming with him, and he knew Ron understood when his lips twitched slightly. Carwood turned back to focus on his brother and his mother waiting close to the entrance to the station, and his smile turned wider when he reached them. 

“Carwood.” His mother said, her eyes shining with tears and her smile warm. Carwood had not seen his mother this emotional since the car accident when he was ten. She was usually so strong and controlled. It was her way of dealing with the things that had happened, with his father's death, with her disability. It touched him deeply to know how much it meant to her that he'd survived, that he'd come back. “It's so good to see you.”

“Mother.” Carwood returned the smile and bent down on instinct to embrace her. He was slightly surprised to find her fingers fisting in his jacket when she pulled him close. She let go a moment later when she had regained her composure, but she was still smiling. 

“Welcome back, Carwood.” John said with a huge grin and came forward to pull him in a bear hug. For being his younger brother, John was pretty tall, towering him by several inches, and it reminded Carwood of how long he'd been gone. The last time he'd seen John, he'd still been a kid, only a little bit taller than Carwood's shoulder. 

“I'm glad to be here.” Carwood replied and returned the embrace before he pulled back. He stepped aside to give his family a better view of Ron. “Mother, John, this is Ronald Speirs. He is... _was_ my Captain.” 

“I'm pleased to meet you, Ma'am.” Ron said with a little bow and accepted Mother's outstretched hand. Carwood hid a smirk. Ron could be remarkably polite and charming when he wanted to be. Carwood carefully eyed his mother, trying to guess her impression, and he was surprised that he could tell that she liked Ron. Somehow, it made him feel even better.

“Welcome to Huntington, Mister Speirs.” Mother greeted Ron with a friendly smile. “I have a room prepared for you. Carwood wrote that you're staying with us for now.”

“If that's all right with you, Ma'am.” Ron replied and inclined his head in a little respectful nod. Carwood wondered how he knew so perfectly what to do to wrap Mother around his little finger. “I thank you for your hospitality.”

“As a friend of Carwood's, you're always welcome, Mister Speirs.”

“Where's Emmy?” Carwood asked only to avoid the uncomfortable topic of what he and Ron really were. Better it never came up again, because he didn't like lying and on that topic, it just couldn't be avoided. So he looked around the station as if his little sister would appear out of nowhere, and he was glad he successfully distracted the others.

It was John who answered with a huge grin. “We have guests and somebody had to stay at the boarding house. Expect a fierce welcome when we get there. She was not happy to be left behind.”

Carwood chuckled. “I can imagine that she didn't like it.”

“Come on, let's get back home.” John suggested and began to push Mother's wheelchair towards the exit of the station. “We have a big meal prepared in celebration of your return, brother.”

“You didn't have to...”

“Nonsense.” Mother interrupted before he could even finish the sentence. She held her head high and her gaze was chiding, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips. “We know how to arrange for a proper welcome for you and your friend.”

Ron gave a polite smile, but Carwood knew him well enough to know that he was in fact hiding a smirk. “Thank you very much, Ma'am. In my name and in your son's.”

“It seems your friend has better manners than you, Carwood.” Mother said, now definitely teasing him. “I'm glad to know you were with my boy over in Europe, Mister Speirs. I'm sure you were a good influence.”

It took Carwood all of his military ingrained discipline to keep from laughing out aloud and he faked a cough to cover the snort he couldn't suppress entirely. Ron flashed him a quick grin behind John's and Mother's back before he replied, “I did my best, Ma'am.” 

When they arrived at the house that Carwood had grown up in, dusk had set in and the lanterns on the porch gave the boarding house a welcoming atmosphere. Carwood stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. It felt as if he hadn't been here in a lifetime. It was still so much like he remembered, yet it felt different. 

There was a hand touching the small of his back for a moment, then Ron passed him, following John who was carrying Mother up to the house. Carwood returned Ron's gaze and moved to climb the stairs after him. The entrance hall was warm and brightly lit and opposite of the front door, there was a reception desk that Carwood had never seen before. It must have been installed after he'd left.

“Brother!!” Carwood heard the familiar voice right before he was hit square in the chest by his sister's body. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he heard her beautiful laugh close to his ear when she hugged him close. “You're back!” 

He smiled and tightened his arms around her, lifting her off the ground and turning in a circle, laughing with her. He looked over at Ron who had a rare, soft smile on his face while he watched Carwood and his sister. Carwood found himself returning it.

He was finally home and all the people he loved were right there with him.

*** 

The air was cold. Carwood felt it almost unpleasantly sharp in his nose every time he took a breath. The monotone thump of feet on the ground was a welcome routine, the sound of a regular breath next to him was calming in its familiarity. 

It was one of the things they hadn't been able to shed after leaving the army. The regular morning run was so much a part of their lives that they had kept up the training once they'd arrived in Huntington. They ran regardless of the weather, just like it had been in the army. It was a need they had to satisfy, and Ron felt it just as much as Carwood. It wasn't easy to break with years of routine, and the army had been their whole life for so long that sometimes Carwood couldn't remember what it had been like before.

The first morning after their arrival, at the crack of dawn, Carwood had found himself on the porch of the boarding house in his PT gear and his paratrooper boots, stretching and warming up. He wasn't really surprised when Ron had shown up only a minute later, dressed in the same PT clothes as Carwood. It was obvious that they both had never considered wearing something that wasn't army issued, and it had made Carwood smile. Some routines were just too deeply ingrained to be changed.

After that they'd taken on running together every morning. They changed the route every time, Ron following Carwood who led them through another part of the town every day. He used their runs to show Ron the area, knowing Ron would remember everything and create a map in his mind to rely on afterwards.

It was a few days after Christmas, on one of their runs, that Ron broke the silence. “I'm going to apply as a fire fighter.”

“Fire fighter?” Carwood repeated in surprise before he could hold it back. Ron didn't reply, just kept up the pace next to him. Carwood concentrated on the calming regularity of his steps and thought about Ron's words. Running was good for thinking, he'd always found, it helped him not to jump to conclusions before he'd examined every angle. It was exactly what he needed right now.

His first response was to convince Ron to choose a less dangerous occupation, but only a moment later he realised that it was his own selfishness demanding that. He knew Ron, understood him in a way he'd never expected, and once he look at it from his point of view, Carwood could understand Ron's choice. Ron needed excitement, danger and discipline like he needed air to breathe, and if it wasn't the army providing him with it, the fire fighters were a very close match. 

A desk job would either slowly drain the life out of him, or it would make him explode with anger and restless energy at some point. That wasn't what Carwood wanted. He didn't want Ron to suppress his nature, he didn't want him to force himself into a safe job that would bore him out of his mind, only to please Carwood. He wanted Ron to be Ron, the unpredictable, volatile, passionate man he'd fallen in love with in Europe, not some kind of conformist with no rough edges. 

He wanted Ron to be happy.

“I can see why you would choose to be a fire fighter.” Carwood said after a mile or two, his mind clear from the cold air, the monotony of the run and the steady presence of Ron next to him. “It's a good choice.”

Ron was silent for some time, then he turned to look at Carwood. “I know you'll worry.”

“Of course I will, Ron.” Carwood replied and returned his gaze. “But I think you understand that I always will.”

“Yes, I do.” Ron replied with a little smile and turned back to the road. 

***

After spending about two months at the boarding house, Carwood bought a little house on the west side of the town, not too far from his mother and his siblings. He'd had an eye on the place ever since their third week in Huntington when he'd come across it by chance, seeing the 'for sale' sign in the tiny garden. He'd pondered about it for another week, then Ron had cornered him and had made him talk about what was on his mind. Ron had listened to a rather long monologue where Carwood had gone through all the pros and cons he could think of. When he'd finished, Ron had declared that they would get an appointment and have a look at the place. 

When Carwood had remarked with a sigh that he didn't have the all money it took to buy the house, Ron had just given him a look and had told him that they were in this together, so they would share the costs, even if only one of them could appear in the contract. It had reminded Carwood of how deep Ron's trust in him ran, and he'd felt humbled. He'd pulled Ron close and kissed him, then he'd pulled back and had asked with a serious voice if Ron wanted to move in with him. Ron had just smirked and told him that they'd been sharing either bed, bedroll or foxhole for so long that it wasn't really a question anymore. 

Carwood could only agree.


	20. Of Plans and Issues (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have changed while Lipton was gone. Or: How Lipton's family experiences his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before, I didn't have much intel on Lipton's family, so they all come from my weird imagination ^_^
> 
> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Carwood had changed.

It was subtle and it didn't come across as much when he was around them, but it showed when he thought nobody was paying him any attention. Hannah Lipton was a very observant person, though – she had to be in order to lead a decent boarding house – and it took her less than a day to pick up on it. She noticed how he held himself straighter than he had before, how he seemed to be alert all the time, how he was even quieter than he'd always been. He smiled, but it seemed to hold a note that she couldn't entirely define, a shadow that made her inexplicably sad. 

She watched her son, worried about how Carwood didn't throw himself back into life. He was checking on the degree courses at the university and he had organised a meeting with the dean to discuss his admission and the financing, but he didn't go to social events, didn't try to meet a woman to settle down. At first she had thought that the unpleasant way his marriage had ended had made him suspicious and unwilling to start anew. Sarah had been a nice girl, friendly and caring in the way a wife should be, and what had happened had not only surprised Carwood and his family, but Sarah's family as well. Her pregnancy while Carwood was gone must have been like slap in his face, and although Hannah knew he'd never said a word of complaint about it to either his family or Sarah herself, it must have hit him hard. It was understandable if Carwood didn't trust easily anymore.

After the first two weeks, Hannah got the impression that her assumptions were wrong, though. Carwood seemed happy. He spent a lot of his time with his friend Mister Speirs – Ronald, he'd offered to Hannah after the first few days – and they went out to the bar at nights regularly. They never returned late, though, were never drunk and never too loud. There was the odd date with one of the local women, but they never brought them back to the boarding house. They were an image of decent behaviour. During the day they often went to town and shortly after the new year, Ronald told them he'd found a job as a fire fighter at the Huntington Fire Department. 

A week later, Carwood had been accepted by the university. He'd broken the news to them with a huge smile and had invited them to dinner at a fancy restaurant that same evening. Emily had been thrilled, happy to spent time with her brother and Ronald, whom she obviously had a crush on. Hannah didn't worry, though. Ronald was a very reserved man, impeccable in his treatment of Emily, always very polite and friendly, but he kept his distance. He was very different from Carwood, and more than once, Hannah had wondered what had brought on the obvious friendship they shared.

The evening at the restaurant had been easy and pleasant, the food had been excellent and the conversation interesting. Emily had been more shy than she usually was, obviously intimidated by the overwhelming atmosphere of the restaurant and the way Carwood and Ronald offered her their arms, walking to both sides of her. John had exchanged a look with Hannah, both of them amused how easy it was to make the girl happy. That evening, Carwood had smiled for real, and it had almost been like before the war. 

Ronald began working at the Fire Department around mid January. He left early in the morning and returned in the evening. Sometimes he worked the night shift, and the trips to the bar with Carwood became less frequent. Instead, they sat together in the living room many evenings, quite often with John or Emily, and a quiet kind of routine settled in. Sometimes Hannah was surprised how easily Ronald had become a steady part of the boarding house. Neither she nor John or Emily regarded him as a guest anymore. Maybe it was Carwood's quiet but obvious familiarity with him that made it so easy to get used to him, or it was his quiet way and his impeccable manners. Hannah always felt as if they saw only one side of him, though, as if there was far more to the man than what he allowed to show. The quick looks and the constant glances Carwood and Ronald exchanged as if they weren't even aware of it served only to confirm her suspicion. 

It was early one Saturday morning when she was in the kitchen preparing her tea that she saw Carwood standing outside on the porch, his arms resting on the balustrade and a cigarette in his hand. She'd never seen her boy smoke before. He was only wearing pants and a shirt although it was very cold outside. New snow had fallen that night and the steps leading up to the porch were frozen, but he didn't seem to notice. He was utterly still, only the occasional raising of his hand to drag on the cigarette interrupted his motionlessness. 

Hannah couldn't help watching him, feeling her heart clench at the sadness and the loneliness that seemed to surround him like a cloak. She knew that he'd seen and experienced terrible things in the war, but it had never been as obvious as it was at that precise moment. She wanted to join him outside, pull him into a hug to reassure him that he wasn't alone, just like she'd always done when he'd been a child. But she knew it wasn't her place anymore, knew that Carwood would smile and reassure her that he was fine because he didn't want her to worry, but he wouldn't open up to her. He was strong, had learned to be from the moment of the accident, when it had been up to him to take care of his two younger siblings and his invalid mother. She wished nothing more than that she could have spared him that burden, but she'd long since learned it was pointless to mourn the past.

Carwood blew out a cloud of smoke, blue-grey in the faint light of dawn, and stared off into places she couldn't see. He wasn't taking in the view of the garden or the street or the houses, she was sure of that. He saw memories, and judging by the way he was hunched over, it weren't good ones. Suddenly Ronald appeared and placed a warm coat over Carwood's shoulders before he joined him at the balustrade, leaning with both arms on the wood.

“You shouldn't be out here without warm clothes.” He said, his voice so quiet she almost couldn't hear it. “You know what the cold can do to your body, Car.”

“I know.” Carwood turned and gave him a little smile, then he handed his cigarette over to Ronald and put the coat on properly. “Thank you.”

Ronald stared at him intensely, Carwood's cigarette between his lips. “We don't want that pneumonia to come back, do we?”

Carwood was quiet for a long moment before he accepted the cigarette when Ronald held it out to him. “Certainly not, no.”

Hannah was very still in the kitchen. This was the first time she'd ever seen somebody take care of Carwood and him actually accept it. From the few words they'd exchanged, from the strange kind of routine in how they treated each other, she could tell that this wasn't the first time Ronald had taken care of Carwood. Hannah frowned. She'd known that Carwood had been injured in Europe because he'd told her about it in a letter without elaborating. She'd had to fight the urge to gasp in shock when she'd first seen the scar on his face that told her how close he'd come to dying. She had never heard a word about pneumonia, though. 

“So you better remember to put on proper clothes before you decided to go for a smoke.” Ronald remarked, and there was an edge to his words that made Hannah wonder what had happened in Europe. How bad that pneumonia had been.

Carwood inched closer to Ron until they were pressed side to side, and his hand came to rest on the small of Ronald's back. “I will, Ron.”

“Good.” Ronald replied and she had the impression that he leaned into the touch. He took the cigarette out of Carwood's fingers and dragged in the smoke. “We survived too much, Car. Don't be reckless now.”

There was a tone to his voice that made Hannah shiver. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to know what had caused it.

Carwood's arm left the small of Ronald's back to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. “I promise.”

It was then that Hannah decided that she'd seen and heard more than she should have. She turned her wheelchair around and returned to her room, the tea on a tray on her legs. She needed some time alone to think about what she'd learned. 

It was a about two weeks later that Carwood told her about the house he was going to buy. Hannah listened and wanted nothing more than to ask him to look for a nice girl, to get married again and start a family. She wanted him to be happy, to live the life he'd established before the war, the life that had been destroyed by Sarah's unfaithfulness. Hannah had opened her mouth to tell him as much when Ronald came into the room, back straight and face impassive as always. The change in her son's attitude was subtle to anyone but her, because she knew him, knew how rare that little smile was that he always gave Ronald without even being aware of it. 

She listened to Carwood explaining that Ronald would be his tenant, that the rent would help him finance the house. She watched the happy glow in her son's eyes, the relaxed posture of his shoulders, listened to the subtle note of joy in his voice. When Hannah looked up, she found Ronald's gaze focussed on her. For the first time she had the impression that he'd let down his neutral, polite mask and underneath she saw a heat she hadn't expected, a fierceness and passion that shocked her. There was a promise in his eyes, the promise to protect Carwood with everything he was, even if it meant that he had to protect him from her. 

It was then that Hannah decided to never ask Carwood to marry again. He should never need protection from his own family, from _her_. She could read in Ronald's gaze that there were things between him and her son that she could never understand; memories they shared and experiences they had suffered through that she couldn't even begin to imagine. There was a bond between them that she had picked up on on the very first day of their arrival, but it had taken her until now to understand how deep it really ran. 

She held Ronald's gaze, then she gave a little nod. She might never understand what they had, she might never like it, and it would never be what she had wanted for her son, but she knew that there was nothing strong enough to break it. Not even her. She would only hurt Carwood in the process, hurt him beyond mending, and her instincts told her that she would lose him over it. Carwood wasn't the same man he'd been before the war, she'd realised that on many occasions since his return, and she sensed that the man he was now was deeply connected to Ronald Speirs. So deeply that he would never let go of him. 

When Carwood and Ronald left the boarding house about a week later to move into the new house, all their possessions in the duffel bags they had arrived with, she waited for them on the porch. Carwood bent down to embrace her and Ronald held out his hand, the same polite mask on his face that he'd worn his whole stay. She accepted his hand and held his gaze, then she told them that she expected both of them back here on Sunday after church for the traditional family lunch.

It was the first time she saw Ronald smile at her. 

*** 

This Speirs guy was strange. 

John couldn't quite decide whether he liked him or not. Carwood seemed to trust him, though, and that was enough for John to give the man a chance. 

At first, John wasn't sure how to behave around Speirs, who was quite difficult to get to know. He was quiet and reserved, even if he was never outright unfriendly. With the passing of time, John got used him and began to pick up on his sharp sense of humour that came out when he sat with John and Carwood around the living room table in the evening, playing cards with a glass of whiskey standing close by. It never showed when Emmy played with them, though, and John quietly approved of it. She was too young for some of Speirs' remarks.

In the second month after Carwood's and Speirs' arrival, John had slowly begun to accept Speirs as a part of the boarding house. He helped out when asked and worked with John and Carwood on fixing the roof on the weekends when he wasn't on call at the Fire Department. Sometimes it annoyed John how much time Carwood spent with Speirs, time that he used to spent with John before. Carwood had refused to take John along with them to the bar when he'd first asked shortly after Christmas, and every time since John had received the same answer. It was as if they didn't want him along, and it grated on John's nerves. He was twenty-two years old and had every right to go to the bar, but that didn't seem to change Carwood's mind. 

John had begun to come to terms with the fact that Carwood still saw him as a boy, as his kid brother, and he'd decided to have a word with him to put things straight. With that determination in mind, he came home from town late one afternoon. When he entered the hallway, Emmy rushed past him, looking rather upset, but she was gone before he could react. John shrugged it off as one of her moods and went to find Carwood. He wasn't in his room or in the kitchen, so John continued on to the living room.

The door was ajar and John heard Carwood's voice coming from inside the room. He had put his hand on the handle when he suddenly froze, staring through the gap between the door and the frame. He could see Speirs with his arms wrapped around Carwood's waist, standing behind him and reading a piece of paper over his shoulder. 

“So it's true. We finally have our own home.” He heard Speirs say, his mouth close to Carwood's ear. 

Carwood grinned and tapped the piece of paper with his left index finger. “Yes, we do. There it is, in black and white.”

John stood transfixed in the doorway, his fingers clenched around the handle as he watched Speirs press a kiss to Carwood's neck.

“What the...?” The words had escaped him before he'd become aware of it. Carwood's and Speirs' heads jerked up immediately, staring at him with wide eyes. John noticed how his brother straightened, how a tension entered his body that hadn't been there before. Speirs let go of him, but not suddenly as if he was embarrassed for getting caught, no, slowly. He moved in front of Carwood ever so slightly and his expression, his whole body language changed. 

John couldn't help feeling suddenly threatened. This wasn't the same man who had lived with them for the past two months. There was something dark and dangerous about him, and after a moment John realised that he was facing the soldier from the European Theatre and not the civilian he'd come to know. It made his skin prickle with something close to fear. 

Carwood caught on to the shift in Speirs immediately and he touched his hand to Speirs' arm and gave him a quick glance. “Ron.” 

After a second, Speirs nodded, but John could see the reluctance when he stepped back and left the room through the door to the hallway. It was as if he and Carwood had had an entire conversation in that one look, and it made John angry in a way he couldn't explain.

“Come in, John.” Carwood said quietly, and John could see the tension that radiated from his brother. For a moment, he was tempted to just slam the door, make it rattle in its hinges, but he knew that wouldn't help him disperse his anger. Only confronting Carwood would give him any relief, and he felt so close to exploding that he decided to step into the room and get over with it. He was spoiling for a fight, and he knew it. 

“What the hell were you doing there?” John asked with a frown, gesturing at the door Speirs had disappeared through.

“We bought a house.” Carwood replied, his back incredibly straight and his voice tight with controlled emotion. “I just signed the contract and came here to show him.”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it.” John's voice had risen, his anger was boiling over inside him. “He _kissed_ your neck! That's not something friends do!”

Carwood was quiet for a moment and John couldn't tell if it was because he wasn't sure what to say to the accusation or because he was trying to calm his own temper. “No, it's not.” 

“Damn right it's not!” John shouted and glared at his brother.

“We're more than friends, John.” Carwood's voice still held that quiet tone, but now there was an edge to it. 

“More than friends?” John gritted out, though he had a pretty good idea what Carwood was talking about. He'd heard about men who were 'that way', rumours and whispered accusations at work about some other guys. There had never been anything good said about men who were 'that way', and John didn't dare to put his own brother in the same league with those men. “What do you mean, 'more than friends'?”

“Ron is my partner. In every sense of the word.” Carwood said while pinning John with a gaze that dared him to say anything bad about Speirs. There was the same kind of dangerous aura around him that John had sensed on Speirs only moments earlier, and although it scared John, it also made him even angrier. It was as if Carwood chose that man over his family, and that was something his brother would never have done before he'd left for that damned war.

“That's... That's... wrong! It's disgusting and shameful! It's _unnatural_!” John yelled, blinded by anger and his blood pounding in his ears.

“You know what's unnatural, John?” Never in his life had John seen his brother furious. Angry on some rare occasions, but never furious. Carwood didn't shout, didn't explode. He became very still, but John saw his jaw clench and the muscles in his neck worked furiously. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but intense in a way that made John freeze on the spot. “Unnatural is watching your friends being torn to pieces because a mortar hit their foxhole while the one that hit yours was a dud. Unnatural is having to go through their remains to find their dog tags to give them to your commanding officer. Unnatural is holding a friend in your arms and watch him bleed out right under your hands. Unnatural is almost freezing to death in holes in the ground along with your entire company while there are mortar attacks every other night and every time they're over, there are a few men less.” 

John felt a shiver run down his spine and goosebumps spread all over his body at the images Carwood described. What hit him most was that he understood Carwood was talking from experience, that everything he'd just said were things he'd lived through over in Europe. His brother's eyes were fixed on him with a gaze filled with so much pain under his fury that John felt almost sick.

Carwood's voice dropped a notch, became haunted and pained more than it was angry. “Unnatural is seeing human beings who look like ghosts, starved to death, tortured, mistreated and killed in the most cruel ways possible just because they were different from what some regime considered the norm. Unnatural is remembering what burnt human flesh smells like because you were in one of those death camps for so long that the stench lingered in your clothes for days afterwards. Unnatural is walking through a sea of corpses that are barely recognisable as human anymore, numbers tattooed on their skin as if they were cattle.”

Carwood stopped and took a deep breath, as if he was trying to calm himself. “It isn't unnatural to care for the men who have become your brothers in every way but by birth. It isn't unnatural to want a moment of peace and comfort in the arms of a person you care about. It isn't unnatural to want them to survive so that you can share a moment of happiness with them. It isn't unnatural to fall in love, John, and it's not your choice who you fall in love with.”

John couldn't say a word when his brother fell silent. He just stood by the door, stunned into something between horror, guilt and overwhelming shame. He swallowed against the huge lump that blocked his throat. Carwood just looked at him with eyes that were far too old for the young man they belonged to, then he sighed and shook his head in a tiredness that seemed to go beyond the physical. “Think about what you say, John. Because when you say you consider what I have with Ron unnatural, then you are on the same side with those Nazis who installed the death camps, and I am on the side of those who were killed in those camps. Because that's what they did with men like me.”

Carwood stood up, moving very slowly, as if he was exhausted beyond what he could take. He walked to the door and left the room without another word. It took John a long time until he was able to move again, and then he only managed to sag down against the door he'd come through in righteous anger only ten minutes ago. 

It seemed like it had been a lifetime ago.

The next morning, John was careful to avoid Carwood. It seemed to be a mutual feeling, and John was grateful for it. He didn't know how to look at his brother, how to talk to him, how to behave around him. John felt ashamed for his words, hadn't been able to sleep the entire night, but he wasn't ready to apologise yet. He was glad when he left for work without coming across his brother. 

It wasn't possible to avoid Carwood over dinner, though. He looked tired and worn out in a way John had never seen before. Speirs threw John a glare over the table that held anger, disappointment and reproach in equal measure. It made John feel even worse.

It was the next morning, when John was on his way to the kitchen to get breakfast, that he spotted Carwood standing outside on the porch, a cigarette in his fingers. John watched him while he got coffee, then he took a deep breath and made his way outside with the steaming mug in his hand. Carwood didn't turn when John came to stand next to him and held out the cup.

“You and Speirs... Would you like some help renovating that new place of yours?” John asked quietly, his fingers clenched around the handle of the mug. 

Carwood slowly turned his head and looked at him for a very long time, his gaze intense and searching. John bit his lip, worried that he might have broken something he wouldn't be able to fix. 

“Yeah.” Carwood nodded slowly and accepted the mug. “We would like that.”

And just like that, John knew that things would be all right. It wouldn't be forgotten and he'd have to work to get Carwood's trust back, but he knew he had been given a chance to prove himself worthy. 

John smiled in relief, and after a moment, Carwood returned it.

*** 

Emily liked Mister Speirs. 

When Carwood had come home and had brought Mister Speirs with him, Emily had immediately been attracted to his mysterious aura. He didn't smile very often – actually she couldn't remember ever having seen him smile for real – but he was friendly and charming and had a very nice voice. He was a real gentlemen and always treated her with utmost respect. Not to mention that he looked fantastic. He was everything a girl could wish for.

She hadn't thought about it too much until Carwood had been accepted into Marshall University and had invited the whole family to a very nice restaurant to celebrate. Emily had taken extra care with her wardrobe, had put on her best dress and had asked Mother to do her hair. She'd felt like a real lady when Carwood had offered her his arm, and she'd felt even better when Mister Speirs had stepped up to her other side and offered her his arm too. When they'd walked into the entrance hall of the restaurant, Emily had noticed the admiring glances she had received with these two handsome men at her side. It was then that she had first thought about how great it would be to have a man like Mister Speirs as her husband.

She knew he wasn't married and she knew Mother liked him. John seemed to be all right with him, too, and Carwood obviously trusted him unconditionally. So after that fateful evening, Emily wondered if he was what they'd consider a suitable husband for her. She was nineteen, it was time for her to find an honourable man, get married and start a family. Mother had told her some time ago that she expected Emily to take over the boarding house since John had already found good work and Carwood was planning to attend university. A husband was everything she needed to be happy, and Mister Speirs seemed to be the ideal candidate.

Of course, Emily thought, it would be wise to ask Carwood first. He knew Mister Speirs best, so he might be able to tell her more. Emily waited until she had the opportunity to talk to Carwood alone. She didn't want Mother or John knowing about her train of thought should Carwood tell her something that would make her change her mind. She couldn't think of anything that would, apart from Mister Speirs having a fiancée she didn't know about, or him not wanting her. When she found Carwood in the kitchen early one evening, composing a letter of some kind, she realised her opportunity had finally come.

Emily entered and approached the table. “Brother, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Emmy.” Carwood said with that gentle smile she loved so much and put his pen aside.

Emily licked her lips and nervously smoothed her skirt when she sat down on the chair opposite of him. “It's about Mister Speirs.”

“What about him?” Carwood asked with an eyebrow raised in question.

Emily bit her lip. “He isn't married, is he?”

“He's divorced.” Carwood said, and she thought he sounded careful. She knew he'd guessed what this was about. Good, it would make it easier for her to address the matter.

“Well, I was wondering...” Emily stopped, looked at her hands in her lap and bit her lip again. How was the best way to phrase this? She really should have planned this conversation better. “I mean, do you think he would be interested in me? As a wife?”

When Carwood didn't reply, she looked up. She had never seen him so still. He sat so straight that it almost looked painful, and she noticed how his hand had clenched into a first, crumpling the letter. When he spoke, his voice was calm, though. “Why do you ask?”

Emily watched her brother carefully. She had the feeling there was something she didn't understand, something he wasn't saying. “Well, I like him, and it's time for me to start thinking about a family. Mister Speirs is an honourable man, and I could imagine having a family with him.”

“You're only nineteen, Emmy. You don't have to marry yet.” Carwood replied with a tenderness in his voice that she remembered from her childhood days when he'd comforted her after a fight with John, or when he'd taken care of a scratch she'd got while playing outside. She had always liked that voice, but right now, it made her angry. She wasn't a child anymore. She could very well make her own decisions, and while Carwood was her older brother, he had no right telling her that she was too young for her own family.

“I have been running the boarding house for years, Carwood.” Emily said and tried hard not to lose her temper. “I have fulfilled the duties of a wife in this house long enough to know what having a family means. I take care of guests, I cook, I wash, I organise the household, I plan and check the finances. I may only be nineteen, brother, but I can very well take care of my own family.”

“I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't, Emmy.” Carwood sighed and rubbed his eyes, as if he didn't know how to handle this situation. “I know you can, I have seen how well the boarding house is doing.”

“Then what problem do you have with me wanting to marry?” He didn't reply, and a thought crossed her mind that had never come to her before. “Or do you just have a problem with the man of my choice?”

That made Carwood's head jerk up, and the letter made a crackling sound when his hand crushed it for good. 

“Is that the problem, Carwood? Is it that you don't want your best friend to marry your sister?” Emily asked, somehow surprised at the idea. Then she realised that maybe it wasn't about her and a wave of understanding washed over her. “You won't lose him because he'd be married to me, Carwood.”

Carwood looked at her with an expression in his eyes that she couldn't name, couldn't define. She held his gaze, trying to show him that she was serious, that she didn't intend to take his friend away. 

After a long time, Carwood closed his eyes for a second and sighed heavily. “But I would lose him, Emmy.” 

Emily was confused, she didn't understand. “What makes you say that?”

Carwood just shook his head. “There are things you don't know, Emmy, things that you don't understand.” 

“I'm not a child anymore, Carwood.” Emily said resolutely, anger returning with a vengeance. She got up and turned to leave the kitchen before she said something she would regret later, but she couldn't keep herself from stopping in the doorway. “You need to understand that you're not the only one who grew up in those past few years, Carwood.”

She thought she saw a stricken look on her brother's face, but she was gone too quickly to tell for sure. She tried to forget about the unpleasant conversation in order to keep up the harmony in the boarding house, and she managed quite well. Carwood seemed to accept her effort and didn't do anything to unsettle the fragile peace. Emily still hadn't given up on Mister Speirs and tried to pay him more attention. It was difficult to tell if she had any success due to his reserved manner.

It was an evening about two weeks later that Emily, watching through the kitchen window, saw how Carwood climbed the stairs to the house, a huge grin on his face. It was a rare expression for him, and it made her curious. She dried her hands on her apron when she heard the front door being opened, then Carwood's footsteps sounded in the living room that was adjacent to the kitchen. 

Emily knew she shouldn't eavesdrop, but she was too curious not to. Especially when it looked like good news with Carwood being so openly happy. So she inched closer to the door that led from the kitchen to the living room and peaked through where it was ajar. Carwood was just pulling a piece of paper out of the pocket of his jacket and handed it over to Mister Speirs.

“We have the house.” She heard Carwood say, his voice quiet but so full of joy that it made her realise she hadn't heard him sound like that since he'd come back. And suddenly, like a ray of sunlight peaking through the clouds after a thunderstorm, Mister Speirs smiled, holding the paper in his hands as if it was a most precious treasure. His eyes shone, the corners of his mouth turned upwards, holding back nothing of his joy. 

Emily just stared. It was beautiful.

Only then came the realisation that it was her brother who'd caused that smile. After almost two months of living under the same roof with Mister Speirs, this was the very first time she'd seen a real smile on his face, and Carwood was the reason for it. It was Carwood who it was directed at. It was Carwood who returned it with the same glow in his eyes, a glow she hadn't seen very often since his return.

It was then that Emily became aware that this was something she could never elicit in Mister Speirs. Not like Carwood could. It hurt, and she had to hold back a pained noise, so she turned as quietly as she could and left the kitchen. She had to get away from them. She hurried towards her room as quietly as she could, only vaguely aware of passing John who'd just opened the front door. 

By the next evening, Emily had calmed down. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about this strange situation, about Mister Speirs, about Carwood, about her. After crying silently in her room for some time, she had made an effort to hide her inner turmoil the best she could so that she would make it through the next day without anybody picking up on her sadness. When she entered the kitchen for dinner, the atmosphere was icy. John didn't look at Carwood or Mister Speirs once, Carwood didn't look at John either, and Mister Speirs glared daggers at John. One quick glance at Mother told Emily that she didn't know what was going on any more than Emily did, but neither asked. Dinner was passed in silence and it was over rather quickly. John left the table as if he was trying to escape from something, and Carwood and Mister Speirs were gone soon after.

“Do you know what that was about?” Mother asked when Emily passed her a plate to dry.

“No.” Emily replied and tried to keep her voice neutral. It wouldn't do to burden Mother any more. “When I last saw them, they were all fine.”

“Men.” Mother shook her head in exasperation. “If they haven't resolved this by tomorrow, I'm going to have to talk to them.”

Emily just nodded and silently washed the remaining dishes. She was glad when she could leave the kitchen with the excuse that she still had to fold the laundry and bring it to the guests' rooms. She delivered to the student on the first floor and the journalist in the adjacent room, then she realised that the other clothes were Carwood's. Emily stood in the hallway for a long time, staring at the white shirt and the pants folded neatly on her arm. 

She didn't want to see Carwood, but she knew she couldn't avoid him forever. She'd thought about this a lot, and she had come to a conclusion that she was sure was correct. She didn't know what to think of it, of Carwood and Mister Speirs, but she knew that there was something that ran so deep that it made Mister Speirs smile. That meant a lot, seeing how he never showed that expression for anybody else. Not like he had smiled at Carwood.

Emily took a deep breath and approached the door to Carwood's room. She knocked and heard his voice coming from inside, inviting her to enter. Emily pushed the door open slowly and looked over to the desk where Carwood was bent over a thick book, a notepad next to it and a pen in his hand.

She closed the door behind her and sat the laundry down on his bed, well aware that his gaze was following her. “Carwood?”

He turned in his chair and looked at her, his eyes guarded. She didn't like that look at all. “What is it, Emmy?”

“I'm sorry for my stupid behaviour.” Emily said quietly and bit her lip when she sank down to sit on the edge of the bed. “I won't approach Mister Speirs.”

Carwood was quiet for a long time, and she looked up to see what he was thinking. He watched her carefully, all his attention focussed on her. “What made you change your mind?”

“His smile.” She blurted out without thinking about it, and she immediately clasped her hands over her mouth in shock. 

Carwood looked at her quizzically. “I'm not sure I understand. What do you mean?” 

Emily fidgeted on the edge of the bed and wondered how she could get out of this without embarrassing herself or offending her brother. She didn't know, couldn't come up with anything, so she decided to follow Mother's advice to be straightforward and honest. She looked up and caught her brother's gaze, then she took a deep breath and said, “He is already taken, isn't he?”

Carwood frowned in confusion. “You know he's not married, Emmy.”

She blushed fiercely and forced herself to go on. “I didn't say 'married', Carwood. I said 'taken'.”

Carwood was very quiet. “What are you talking about, Emmy?”

She sighed. It was too late for prudence anyway, she could just as well say what she was thinking. “You were the one who made him smile, Carwood. In the whole time he's been with us, I've only seen him smile once, and that was when you told him about the house.”

There was the beginning of a frown on her brother's face. “How do you know about that?”

“I saw you give him the contract when you came back yesterday.” Emily admitted, blushing because she knew she had done something she shouldn't have. “I saw the way he smiled at you.” 

Carwood was quiet for a long moment. “What are you implying, Emmy?”

Emily held his gaze. “You're going to move in together, aren't you?” 

Carwood hesitated for a moment, obviously not sure what the change of subject was about, then he nodded. “Yes. He's going to rent a room from me.”

For a moment, Emily was quiet and gnawed on her lip, then she decided to be bold. “Do you love him?”

“Emmy!” Carwood took a sharp breath. He looked rather scandalised, and the shocked expression on his face would have made her laugh if the situation hadn't been so serious. 

She didn't let go, though. She needed to know that giving up Mister Speirs was the right thing to do, so she leaned forward the until her elbows rested on her knees and stared at her brother. “Do you?”

Carwood seemed surprised at her insistence. He held her gaze for a long time and searched her eyes as if he was looking for something. He seemed to find it because he let a slow smile show on his lips before he replied, “Yes.”

“Good. Because if I give him up, I want to know that he'll be in good hands.”

Carwood stared at her dumbfounded for a few seconds, then he broke out in surprised laughter. “Emmy, you are unbelievable!”

Emily couldn't help being infected by his laughter. She smiled broadly and watched her brother laugh, real and honest laughter, and it filled her with a deep satisfaction that she had almost forgotten. She hadn't seen him this relaxed since he'd left for the army, and it was only now that she remembered how much she had missed his honest joy. Maybe Mister Speirs was part of that joy, and maybe giving him up for her brother was the only right thing to do. Because whatever Carwood had seen over in Europe that had made him so serious, so controlled and tense, she didn't doubt that Mister Speirs understood it. Mister Speirs had the power to make Carwood relax, to make him smile, and that was worth a lot in her book. 

It was worth a lot more than her wish for a husband like Mister Speirs. There were other men out there for her, but there was only this one man for her brother. What that meant she didn't need to know, and she would never ask, but she understood the importance of it. 

When Carwood and Mister Speirs left for their new house about a week later, Emily embraced her brother with honest affection. He pulled her close and murmured a quiet 'thank you' in her hair, and she just held on tighter. Then she turned to Mister Speirs and stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek and whispered, “Promise me to take good care of him.”

When she pulled back, Mister Speirs looked slightly taken aback, but he regained his composure quickly and returned her gaze firmly. He gave her a little smile, a real one that filled her with warmth. 

“I promise.”


	21. Of Gestures and Appreciation (Winters/Nixon, Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major Winters makes a gift. Or: How Major Winters abuses his position.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wee ficlet was inspired by a comment my dear taterswhats made – once I read it, I couldn't fight off my Muse... I tampered a bit with the real-life timeline, I needed Dick to stay with the army for a few months longer. Oh, and of course I arranged for Nix to stay with him during that time XD
> 
> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

“What do you think?”

Lew looked up from the report he'd been writing – all right, he'd more been falling asleep over it rather than actually work on it – and focussed on the hand in front of his face. There were two sets of dog tags dangling from Dick's long fingers, and Lew reached out to hold them steady.

“They're dog tags, Dick. I've seen those before. More than once, actually.” He replied with a dry tone to his voice. 

“Read them.” Dick said, not bothered by Lew's sarcasm at all.

Lew turned the tags over in his hand and did as he was told. It took him a moment to understand the significance of the tags. Ron and Carwood named as each others' next of kin, the same address on both sets of dog tags. Those weren't standard tags – especially considering that both Ron and Lip had left the army about four months ago.

“Abusing your position, hmm, Major?” Lew couldn't help teasing when he turned in his chair to look at Dick who was standing right behind him.

Dick blushed, but he looked defiant rather than embarrassed. “Maybe.”

“It's for a good cause.” Lew said to make him feel better, but he couldn't entirely keep the teasing edge out of his voice. “You're such a big romantic, you know that?”

Suddenly Dick looked worried. “You think it's too much?”

Lew smiled. He rarely saw Dick unsure of something, but on this matter, he obviously really needed Lew's assurance. “No, Dick, it's not. They're going to love them.”

“You think?” Dick still looked unconvinced.

“I _know_.” Lew said with all the confidence he had in this – and that was a lot. Then he snorted. “Ron _moved to Huntington_ for Lip, Dick. You can't be more obvious than that.”

Dick was quiet for a moment. “I'm going to move to Nixon for you.”

“I know.” Lew grinned. It was a huge and slightly stupid grin, he was sure, but he couldn't help it. “So, am I going to get a new set of dog tags, too?”

Dick just raised an eyebrow. “We're still on active duty, Lew. I hardly think that would be wise.”

Lew put on his best pout, knowing what it did to Dick. “So you go through all that trouble for Ron and Lip, but not for me?”

Dick seemed entirely unaffected. “I'm not falling for that, Lew.”

Lew shrugged with a smirk. “It was worth a try.”

Dick just chuckled and let his hand trail down Lew's neck, an almost risky gesture in this setting, before he turned and left the office, the dog tags securely hidden in his pocket.

*** 

Two weeks later, when Lew returned to his billet after a day spent in the office, he found a letter on his pillow. He frowned, wondering who had dared to enter his room while he was gone, and he reached for it. It was too heavy for a normal letter, and there was a metallic sound when he turned the envelope over. He ripped it open, and a set of brand new dog tags fell into his palm. 

At first he was surprised. It took him a moment until he remembered the conversation he'd had with Dick some time ago. When he'd read over the tags, he had to smile so hard it almost hurt, and he would never admit to anyone – not even Dick – that his eyes prickled. His thumb gently rubbed over the letters on the metal that was slowly warming in his hands, and he decided he loved the feel of it.

There was a small piece of paper folded in the envelope, and Lew pulled it out and read over the two lines that were written in Dick's strong handwriting. 

_'Don't wear them before we're out of the service. I won't, either.'_

***

Ron and Carwood had lived at the new house for about a month when the mailman brought a little package that was unmistakably army issued. It came from Battalion Headquarters and was addressed to Ron. Carwood placed it on the kitchen counter so Ron would see it once he came back from work. He totally forgot about it until he heard Ron's key in the front door, followed by his jacket on the coat rack and his shoes hitting the floor one after the other. When he entered the living room, Carwood looked up from his books and greeted him.

“Welcome home, Ron.” Carwood smiled and titled his head up to welcome Ron's gentle press of lips on his. “Oh, there's a package for you in the kitchen.”

Ron murmured something in acknowledgement and walked over to the kitchen counter. Carwood watched from the table how Ron frowned at the package and then slit it open with his pocketknife. He pulled out a letter and scanned it, then he reached for something inside the package that Carwood couldn't see. There was a soft metallic rattling and then Ron went still, staring at whatever it was he held in his hand. He remained motionless for so long that Carwood became worried, so he got up from the table and slowly approached him.

“Ron?” Carwood came to stand beside him, glancing at his face, then at his hands. There were dog tags on his palm, two sets, the chains still gleaming silvery and new. Ron was staring at them, one thumb rubbing gently over the metal surface of one of the tags, then a smile appeared on his lips that was beautiful in its silence.

“A courtesy from Major Winters.” Ron said very quietly, a soft shine his eyes. “He wrote that he guessed we needed new ones.”

He looked up, his eyes finding Carwood's, and Carwood couldn't remember ever having seen so much tenderness in his gaze. “These are yours.”

Ron held out one set and let it slide into Carwood's open palm. Carwood was confused what this was about – they had left the army, after all. Although they had both not been ready to remove their dog tags yet, he couldn't fathom why Winters would send them new ones. Ron's face told him there was more to it, though, so he glanced down and read over one of the the shiny new tags. It was untainted, no bloodstains, no dents, no scratches. The first line was his name, the second his registration number, the year of his tetanus shot and his blood group, just like the tags he wore under his shirt. It was when his eyes reached the third line that he took in a sharp breath. 

_RONALD SPEIRS_  
10 W MAIN ST  
HUNTINGTON WV 

The address of their new home. 

Carwood let his breath escape with a low sigh that came from somewhere deep inside him. Suddenly he understood Ron's reaction. Winters had issued them dog tags where they were named as each other's next of kin. 

It was as close to a wedding band as they could ever get.

“Ron...” Carwood looked up and found Ron watching him with a secret little smile. “You didn't know either, did you?”

Ron just shook his head, as if he didn't trust his voice. Carwood held out his new dog tags to him with a little smile, then he bowed his head. “Would you mind?”

For a moment, Ron seemed to be confused, then he got it and his smile widened. He reached out, took hold of Carwood's old dog tags and lifted the chain over his head. Then he accepted the new ones and almost gently put them around Lipton's neck. Carwood felt goose bumps spread all over his body when the cold metal touched his skin, came to rest against his chest. The tags felt different from his old ones that had gone through hell with him. These ones felt new, yet as if they'd always been a part of him. He knew he would never take them off, and for that he didn't need any army regulation ordering him to do so.

When he looked up, Ron was holding out his own new tags, and Carwood accepted them without ever breaking their gaze. He did what Ron had done to him, removed his old dog tags and placed the new ones around his neck. It was nothing official, nothing on paper, nothing legal, but to Carwood, it felt as if they had just confirmed what they both had known for so long: Their bond was for life. 

Carwood smiled, his left hand resting flat over Ron's new dog tags, pressed against the soft cotton of his shirt. “I don't know how we can ever thank him appropriately.”

Ron smiled, his hand settling over Carwood's. “I think he already knows.”

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/16335757/63425/63425_original.jpg)

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/16335757/127375/127375_original.jpg)


	22. Of Rumours and Pretence (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are always rumours. Or: Speirs and Lipton keep up appearances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

The new guy was strange.

Edwin Bellman looked at the man with the impassive face and the cool eyes. He was maybe a few years older than Eddie, tall and strong in the way that came from years of regular exercise. He had started on the job just a few days ago, while Eddie had still been on vacation with his family, so he'd only now learned that there was a new guy on his truck. 

Rumour had it that he'd just returned from the war, that he'd been a paratrooper. Eddie had heard and read a lot about the paratroopers. They were the best of the best, an article had said, the toughest, most reckless, most dangerous soldiers in the army. He believed every word of it when he looked at the new guy with his incredibly straight posture and this strange aura of authority that surrounded him without him even saying a word. The other guys had told Eddie that the new guy was a quick learner and had shown excellent nerves and tactical skill in a huge fire two days ago. They said he didn't talk much, but they seemed to have accepted him all right, and although the new guy didn't join in the chatter and the laughter around the station, he clearly wasn't an outcast.

Eddie watched him some more, then he decided to see for himself what that guy was like. If they were going to be on the same truck, Eddie wanted to know what kind of man he would have at his back. If he could trust him or if he had to be careful – it could decide whether he survived.

“Hey, new guy.” Eddie said with a grin while walking towards the tall man. “What's your name?”

The new guy looked up, his eyes sweeping over Eddie for a second, and Eddie couldn't help the feeling that he'd just been analysed and categorised. The new guy didn't hesitate, though, just held out his hand. “Ronald Speirs.”

“I'm Eddie Bellman. You're on my truck.” Eddie said and shook the offered hand. It was a strong grip, firm but not crushing, showing strength without trying to oppress.

“You're the one who was on vacation.” Speirs remarked, and it wasn't a question. “What position do you have?”

And just like that, Eddie befriended Speirs. It was remarkably easy to get along with him, although he was quite reserved and didn't speak a lot, especially not about himself. Eddie had once asked him about the war, what he'd done over there in Europe, and Speirs had given him a look that made it unmistakably clear that he should never ask again. He hadn't. 

Speirs was one of the fastest learners Eddie had ever come across and his discipline was remarkable. He proved to be one of the most efficient and fearless fire fighters Eddie had ever worked with. Sometimes, Eddie was tempted to call it reckless and insane what Speirs did, but somehow he always managed to come out of his stunts mostly unharmed. Sometimes it was scary how much he seemed to be born for this job.

It didn't surprise Eddie that Speirs made it to the leader of the truck company within the first year. His military background certainly helped a lot, and he effortlessly kept the men in line. They all noted Speirs' outstanding leadership qualities and his willingness to go into every danger he expected his men to face, and it inspired a kind of loyalty that Eddie had rarely seen before. Despite his calm and controlled exterior, Speirs had a temper, and Eddie saw glimpses of it on some occasions when the other guys took their banter too far or when they didn't react fast enough for Speirs' liking. It only came out full force that one time when one of the men got a woman killed in a fire because he hadn't reacted appropriately to get her out. When Speirs confronted Billy and found him to be drunk, Eddie had for the first time been truly and honestly scared of Speirs. Billy quit his job and left the Fire Department a day later. 

With the passing of time, Speirs became more sociable. When the men went out for drinks sometimes after their shift, Speirs usually had a girl attached to his arm before they had even finished their first beer. It wasn't as if he was chasing after them, it was more that the ladies just gravitated towards him. Eddie watched and wondered what it was that made the ladies fall for him. Maybe it was that mysterious aura of his. Girls seemed to like that a lot. He couldn't remember ever having seen Speirs with the same woman twice.

“How do you do that?” Eddie asked when the current girl – a cute little redhead – had left for the restroom, not without throwing a teasing smile at Speirs before she'd gone.

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Eddie.” Speirs just shrugged casually, never even bothering to look up from his beer. 

“That's why you're not married?” Eddie jerked his head at the direction the redhead had disappeared to.

“Some men are just not made for a woman.” Speirs replied with another shrug.

“I can see that.” Eddie snorted and told himself that he wasn't jealous. He had his Mary, and she was a great woman. He didn't need others. “ _You_ seem to be made for many women.”

Again, Speirs just shrugged and took a drink. Eddie took a deep breath and did his best to quell his envy when the curvy redhead came back and sat down next to Speirs with her hand on his arm. 

*** 

There he was again, the nice young man who'd bought the old Bakers' house next door. He'd just entered the front yard with a pile of books in his arms, a heavy looking bag over his shoulder and the mail in the same hand that held the keys. Mrs. Finnigan watched through her kitchen window as he sat the books down on the balustrade of the porch to unlock the door. When he looked up, he spotted her and gave her a friendly smile and a wave of his now free hand. She returned it and watched him disappear in the house.

Young Mister Lipton was a handsome man, Mrs. Finnigan thought, if you managed to ignore that huge scar that ran across his right cheek. He was tall and strong and well-spoken, a gentleman to the core. He studied at the university, Mrs. Finnigan knew, and he was aiming for an engineering degree. She'd heard that he'd been in the war over in Europe, and she found it showed. Not only in that scar, but also in the way he held himself with discipline and control. A fine young man, she thought, and he was always so nice to help her when she asked him. 

There was another man living in the old Bakers' house. He rented a room from Mister Lipton, and rumour said they'd been in the war together. Mrs. Finnigan had even heard that he'd been a Captain in the army. She could imagine young Mister Speirs in uniform, leading troops of men. He was a quiet man, but there was an atmosphere of authority to him that was very impressive. He was always friendly when she talked to him, polite but reserved. She knew he worked at the Fire Department, and she saw him leave for the night shift from time to time. Once he'd come back with a bandage on his arm, and she'd learned from Mrs. Johnston two houses down the street that he'd sustained severe burns when he'd saved a little girl from a burning house. Mister Speirs never talked about his work, but that didn't mean Mrs. Finnigan didn't have ways to find out anyway. 

That was how she'd learned that Mister Speirs had a reputation of being a real ladies' man. He and Mister Lipton were both bachelors, according to the grapevine, but she never saw them bring any women to the house. Which was a good thing, because she wouldn't have liked that kind of business going on in the house right next to hers. She'd said that to her Walter once, and he'd nodded in agreement. They were a decent neighbourhood, after all. 

There was this one young woman coming by the house ever so often. She was beautiful, with long blond curls, a charming smile and an infectious laugh. She seemed to know both men rather well, but she never stayed the night. Sometimes she brought a young man with her who bore an undeniable resemblance to young Mister Lipton, although he was quite a bit taller. It was only when Mrs. Finnigan greeted her one day that she found out that the woman was Mister Lipton's sister. A nice young thing, that girl, very friendly and impeccable manners. She'd even brought Mrs. Finnigan a jar of home-made strawberry jam they'd talked about once.

One day, a few months after Mister Lipton had bought the Bakers' house, Mrs. Finnigan came over to his doorstep and asked him if he was kind enough to help her cutting the hedge. She told him with a wink that her Walter wouldn't admit that he always got a serious backache from it, and Mister Lipton smiled and came over. It was when he was working with the huge garden clippers on trimming the hedge towards the street that she saw her opportunity to ask him some questions.

“May I ask you something, Mister Lipton?” Mrs. Finnigan said to him when he was kneeling on the front lawn.

“Of course, Mrs. Finnigan.” He replied and smiled at her.

“How can it be that a fine young man like yourself isn't married, Mister Lipton?” It was something she'd wondered for some time now, and the grapevine hadn't been able to give her any answers.

He didn't halt in his work. “I was, Ma'am.” 

Oh, that was news. “What happened, my dear?”

He was silent for a moment and when he answered, his voice was quiet. “War happened.”

She couldn't think of anything to say to that, so she went on to the next thing that had sparked her curiosity. “And Mister Speirs?”

“It's the same thing, Ma'am.” Mister Lipton said and went on to cut the side of the hedge that pointed towards the street. His work was meticulous and there was nothing Mrs. Finnigan could find to criticise. He did this far better than her Walter who always made unpleasant dents in the hedge.

“You ought to find a wife, my dear.” Mrs. Finnigan remarked with the goal of finding out if he was interested in her help. She had a lot of friends with nice unmarried daughters.

“It's not that easy, Ma'am. You have to find the one who is your match.” He looked up and there was a slight blush on his face. His words made her smile and she nodded at him. It was good to see that there were still men who believed in true love.

“I see you are a romantic, Mister Lipton.” 

He shrugged with a slightly embarrassed smile and turned back to the hedge. “War makes you think about what you really want from life, Ma'am. Teaches you not to waste your second chance.”

Mrs. Finnigan didn't know what to say to that, either. It sounded far too wise for such a young man, but she believed he had seen enough to have a right to those words. Such a good man, she thought, and decided that she would help him find the one woman who was his match. She had the connections to present him enough honourable women that he could find what his romantic heart was looking for. She'd always had a soft spot for nice and polite young men, and Mister Lipton had definitely earned the right of her support. 

*** 

Carwood loved their house. It was small, but cosy and comfortable. Even more important, it was _theirs_. What he hated, though, was the pretence they had to keep up, the lies they had to tell. There were two fully equipped bedrooms, one that was Carwood's and one that officially was Ron's. It wasn't as if Ron had spent more than one or two nights in it, but they had to keep it up in case anybody ever got curious or visited. Ron's status as Carwood's tenant didn't allow any slip-ups. It could be dangerous, and they both knew it.

More than anything, though, Carwood hated the occasional date he had to go on in order to keep up appearances. Ron was pretty good at upholding his reputation as the ladies' man of the Fire Department, but Carwood wasn't like that. Nobody would believe it if he tried, so he had to take a different path. Meaning that tomorrow, he would have to go out to dinner with the daughter of a friend of Mrs. Finnigan's, who'd made it her business to find a wife for him. Carwood sighed at the thought and pushed the beans on his plate from one side to the other.

“What's wrong, Car?” Ron asked and interrupted Carwood's brooding.

Carwood looked up and found a concerned gaze focussed on him. “Mrs. Finnigan got me in her clutches today. Again.”

“Ouch.” Ron made a face to express his commiseration. He'd once witnessed the old woman forcing another date on Carwood. He'd been standing right next to him when old Mrs. Finnigan had told him about the nice daughter of a good friend from her knitting circle, and she'd been deaf to Carwood's attempts to decline. Once she'd been done with Carwood, she'd turned to Ron, but he'd just given her his best polite smile and had told her that he was sure that she didn't have contact with the kind of woman he usually spent time with. It had taken her a moment to understand, then she'd frowned at him. She'd never approached him with a date proposition again, and Carwood wished desperately that he could have done the same to get rid of her.

“Ouch, yeah. You could say that.” Carwood replied and put his fork down.

“Who did she try to set you up with this time?” Ron asked, more curious than concerned.

“The daughter of a friend of hers. What a surprise. She arranged for a meeting tomorrow evening.” Carwood leaned his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands. He really didn't want to go on that date. 

Ron seemed to pick up on his mood. He put down his own fork, reached across the table and wrapped his hand around Carwood's left wrist. “It's only for the evening, Car.”

“I know.” Carwood sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “I just hate those date nights.”

Ron's thumb drew soothing little circles on the skin of Carwood's wrist. “We knew there was no way around it when we decided to come here together.”

“That doesn't make me hate it any less.” Carwood replied and looked up to find Ron's concerned gaze directed at him. “I just do it to keep them from getting suspicious and start talking.”

“People always talk, Car, that's normal.” Ron said with a matter-of-fact kind of voice. “You will never be able to keep them from gossiping, so the only thing that's important is to define _what_ they gossip about.”

Carwood couldn't help a smirk. “You would know that, wouldn't you?”

“I've always excelled at having a reputation based on stories, rumours and exaggeration.” Ron replied with a chuckle, then he became serious again. “It's all about what they think, Car. It's never about the truth.”

“This is different, Ron.” Carwood couldn't help hating this, hating what they had to do in order to keep up appearances. “Back in the army it was about keeping the boys in line, it wasn't about having to worry about your neighbours coming after you if they thought the wrong thing.”

“No, Car, this is no different. As long as they make me into an eternal bachelor with a taste for too many women, I won't interfere.” Ron held Carwood's gaze, his eyes serious. “And as long as they make you into the big romantic who doesn't seem to find his match, you shouldn't interfere either. It's what makes it possible for us to have a life together.”

Carwood nodded slowly. He knew that, knew how important it was for them not to raise any suspicion. It had worked well over the past year, and he didn't doubt it would continue working, but he wished he could stop it. He hated knowing that Ron touched those girls when he was out with his men as much as he hated pretending to be interested in the women Mrs. Finnigan always set him up with. 

As if Ron had read his thoughts, his hand came up and touched Carwood's cheek in a gentle caress. “It's not real, Car. Nobody ever saw me kiss one of those many girl. I never once slept with any of them. The only thing that counts is that everybody _believes_ I did. You know better, though.”

“It's not that I'm jealous, Ron.” Carwood replied and settled his hand over Ron's, catching his gaze to make him see the truth in his words. “I just hate the pretence. I hate making these things up.”

“But that's the beauty of the whole thing, Car. We're not making anything up.” Ron pointed out with a satisfied smirk. “We don't _have_ to, they're doing it for us. And by never confirming nor denying anything, they only believe it more.”

Carwood knew that to be true, had seen it work on the men of Easy with surprising efficiency. Until this very day, Ron had never told him what truth there was to the stories that were told about him, and Carwood had never asked. Some things were meant to stay rumours.

Ron got up and rounded the kitchen table until he stood behind Carwood. He leaned down and wrapped his arms around Carwood's shoulders, then Carwood felt his lips against the skin of his neck, slowly wandering from his shoulder up to his ear. Carwood's eyes closed and his head fell to the side to grant Ron better access.

“Forget about it for now and come to bed with me, Car.” Ron murmured into his ear, nipping on his earlobe. “To _our_ bed.”

Carwood smiled and leaned into the touch. Yes, Ron was right. It was _their_ bed. In _their_ room, in _their_ home. And if he had to pretend to go on a date from time to time in order to keep that, then he would.


	23. Of Home and Happiness (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is an addition to the Speirs-Lipton household. Or: The day Luz came to live with Speirs and Lipton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic takes place about three years after Ron and Carwood returned from the war.
> 
> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

“Car!”

Carwood looked up from the papers and books he had spread out on the table in the living room. He was approaching the last final exams before he earned his degree, only a few month to go, and he spent most of his days studying while Ron was out working. When he heard Ron's call echo through the house, Carwood frowned. Ron didn't sound anxious, but he almost never shouted, so the fact that he had was enough to bring Carwood to his feet immediately. He quickly walked over to the front door from where he could hear the shuffle of Ron's coat. 

“What is it, Ron?” Carwood asked when he rounded the corner. Ron had his back to him, trying to remove his coat with one hand while he cradled his right arm close to his body. Carwood frowned in worry and hurried over to him.

“Ron, what...” before he could finish his question, he saw the little grey lump in Ron's arm. When it moved slowly, Carwood realised that it was a rather tiny dog. A puppy, to be exact, and it was dirty and wet and obviously shivering. 

“I found him next to the entrance of the station.” Ron answered, still trying to get out of his coat. “He was in a paper box and hardly moved.”

No surprise, Carwood thought. It was February and it was freezing outside. He was surprised the puppy hadn't already frozen to death. He didn't think it could have survived very long with only a paper box as shelter against the cold and the snow. After a moment of watching Ron struggle with his coat, Carwood grabbed its back and helped him out of it, hanging it on the coat rack. 

“I think there were other puppies in the box, but he was the only one left. Somebody's bitch must have had a litter and they didn't know what to do with the puppies.” Ron almost vibrated with anger, his hand gently patting the grey lump's tiny head. “They just left the little ones out in the cold. If those irresponsible bastards had shown, I would have killed them.” 

“I'm sure the other puppies were already taken in by somebody else.” Carwood said in order to calm Ron, although he agreed with him. Putting the puppies out on the street at this time of the year was a kind of cruel, careless behaviour that Carwood couldn't understand. It was as good as condemning them to the slow, painful death of freezing. After Bastogne, Carwood had a very good idea of how painful it was. 

He took a closer look at the little creature in Ron's arms. Its short fur was mostly white under the grey layer of wet dirt, but there was a black spot around its left eye and another around its right ear. Even the nose was spotted. It had huge brown eyes and the moment it looked at Carwood, he knew that he wouldn't let it come to any more harm. Considering the way Ron was cradling it protectively, Carwood guessed he wasn't the only one who the puppy had wrapped around its little finger. Or paw.

“I think he's hurt.” Ron remarked and carefully stretched the little right front paw. There was blood visible under all the dirt that covered the fur. 

“It looks like a cut.” Carwood said after having a closer look. He guessed that the injury was the reason the little one had been left behind when his siblings were all taken. “I think it's best we give him a proper bath, then we can take care of that.” 

Ron nodded and Carwood sent him to the bathroom while he went to get some old towels and the soap bar from the kitchen. It was surprisingly easy to wash the puppy once they had the sink filled with warm water. The dog was too exhausted to move much and it let Carwood soap its fur twice and rinse it out without making a fuss. Ron held it carefully and let Carwood work with gentle hands to rub all the dirt off the fur. 

When Carwood took hold of the injured paw, the puppy flinched and gave a pitiful yelp.

“I'm sorry, little one.” Carwood said with a soothing voice. “But we have to take care of that.”

He took a corner of one of the towels and wet it, then he patted the cut that had begun bleeding again. “I don't think it's that deep. We'll wrap it and keep an eye on it. If it doesn't get better in the next few days, we'll take him to the vet.”

“Or we call Doc Roe.” Ron suggested with a smirk.

Carwood chuckled. “Or we call Doc Roe. He probably has a few ideas what we can do.”

Ron lifted the puppy out of the sink on the towel they had spread out on the bathroom floor. When the dog shook out its fur, the water mostly landed on Ron who just shook his head with a snort. “Thank you very much.”

Carwood watched him with a smirk and let the water out of the sink before he joined them on the floor and took another towel.

“He needs a name.” Carwood remarked with a smile tugging on his lips while he carefully rubbed the cloth over the wet fur. Ron didn't reply, but Carwood knew he was thinking about it. Once the puppy was mostly dry, Ron took it in his arm and caressed its back in a slow, soothing motion. The little one obviously liked it, because after a moment his eyes began to close. Maybe he was just really exhausted, Carwood thought and caressed him behind the ears.

“What do you think of 'Luz'?” Ron asked and looked up at Carwood with a barely hidden grin.

Carwood was quiet for a moment, then he smirked. “I think it's perfect.” 

*** 

When Carwood returned from university late one Saturday afternoon, the house was quiet. It didn't surprise him, though, because the chances of Ron staying indoors on a sunny Saturday were close to zero. 

Carwood hung his jacket on the coat rack and made his way over to the living room, just to freeze in the doorway. For a moment, he didn't dare to believe his eyes. Ron was slouched on the couch, one leg on the ground and his head on the armrest. He was obviously asleep. On top of him, on his stomach to be exact, curled into a ball, lay Luzzie, as fast asleep as Ron who had one arm wrapped around him. 

It was a sight Carwood had never in his life expected to see. It made him feel warm all over.

He had to admit that he'd noticed changes in Ron in the months since they'd taken in Little Luz. Ron had from the very first moment shown great concern for the little one, had taken care of him with a devotion that Carwood had rarely seen him display. They'd defined a set of rules the day after Luz' arrival, already knowing they would keep him. Ron was actually stricter than Carwood managed to be in the face of those brown eyes, but he nevertheless cared for Luzzie beyond anything Carwood had expected. 

Ron had changed the bandage on the injured paw twice a day, once before he left for the Fire Department and once in the evening when he came back. Although Luz' paw had healed entirely, he never lost his limp. Ron had once said that he guessed it was due to the young age when Little Luz had had the injury and that he'd just learned to walk with a limp. Carwood agreed, because once you saw Luzzie run, it was obvious that he didn't really have problems walking. He was remarkably quick and zig-zagged like a rabbit, obviously enjoying it. 

He and Ron were made for each other, because Ron still preferred the outdoors to a house, and he loved to range the woods just as much as Little Luz. Carwood could never hold back his smile when he watched them run between the trees, either playing or Ron throwing sticks that Luzzie was eager to run after, but which he never actually brought back. 

In those moments, Ron seemed to lose a decade of his years, was carefree and happy in a way Carwood had never seen before. It was one of Carwood's favourite sights. He could never get enough of it, which was why he rarely missed out on their trips. Luzzie did Ron good, Carwood thought and smiled at the pair on the couch. He decided to let his boys sleep and sat down in the armchair opposite of the couch with a book. He couldn't exactly say if it was a sign of exhaustion or trust that neither woke. 

It was about an hour later that Ron made a sound and began to move. Carwood rested his book in his lap and looked at him, watched how Ron's hand unconsciously caressed Luzzie's fur. The dog just huffed out a content breath but didn't move. A lot like Ron on Sunday mornings, Carwood thought and smirked.

“Car.” Ron said when he spotted him, his voice rough with sleep. He gave one of his rare spontaneous smiles that Carwood loved so much, one that was open and honest and heartfelt. “How long have you been back?”

Carwood returned the smile. “A while.”

Ron suppressed a yawn and stretched his limbs. “You should have woken me.”

Carwood got up, lifted Little Luz off Ron's stomach before he fell off and set him on the floor. “You two were so peaceful, and there was no need to wake you.”

Ron sat up on the couch and patted the seat cushion next to him in invitation. Carwood sat down and leaned against Ron's side. He felt Ron's arm settle around him, pulling him in until his head rested on Ron's shoulder. Little Luz cuddled up in front of the couch, lying down on top of their feet. 

Carwood closed his eyes and smiled, enjoying Ron's fingers carding through his hair at the nape of his neck and the warmth of Luzzie's body on his feet. He was comfortable. He was happy. This was everything he could wish for. A family.

His family.


	24. Of Support and Understanding (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speirs is subject to a moment of unexpected kindness. Or: Lipton gets called to the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

It was dark.

There were noises, but they were muffled, as if they came from far away, and he couldn't make out the words. There was a touch, a warmth resting against the back of his hand, a slow, soothing caress on his skin. There was a very distinct smell but he couldn't place it, couldn't get his brain to sort through memories and identify it. 

There was another sound, then a caress to his hair and a warm touch to his temple. Then the darkness was back, blocking out all sound, all feeling, all warmth.

 

*** 

The first thing he became aware of was the sound of footsteps on the floor. They weren't close, they weren't stopping. They passed by, but he couldn't help being instantly alert. The next thing he noticed was a red-hot pain in his left arm, stretching from the back of his hand up to his elbow. Then there was movement next to him, followed by the gentle touch of warm fingers passing over his forehead.

“Ron?” 

That voice. He knew that voice. He would recognise it anywhere, and it made him feel better immediately. 

“Car?” He tried to speak, but nothing came out besides a hoarse croak. He fought with the dry tongue in his mouth that wouldn't obey him, wouldn't form the words he wanted to say. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids were heavy and didn't move when he ordered them to. He felt helpless, trapped, like a prisoner in his own body, and it only made him fight even harder. 

“Easy, Ron.” The fingers were stroking over his face and his hair soothingly, their gentle, familiar touch calming him as much as Carwood's voice. “You've been sedated. It'll take a while to wake up.”

He heard the words, but it took him a moment to make sense of them. He felt the gentle touch, though, noted the calm tone of Carwood's voice, and he focussed on them, made them his anchor to reality. He took a deep breath, slow and measured, and tried to open his eyes again. This time it worked, although he only saw blurry shapes. The lights were bright above him and Ron closed his eyes again. There was the sound of people all around them, walking, talking, working. There was that scent again, and now it was easy to place. 

He was in a hospital.

“Take it slow, Ron.” Carwood said and Ron worked his eyes open again. He tired to focus on the shape that was bent over him, wanting to see the familiar features, the warm eyes, the beautiful smile. It took a moment before the blurring receded, and all the while, the soothing caress of fingers in his hair remained, guided him, helped him to centre. 

“Would you like some water?” Carwood asked after a moment and Ron could only nod. He guessed his voice would work better once he'd had something to drink. Carwood pushed a hand under his head and helped him up enough so that he could take a few sips of water from a metal cup, then he eased him back down onto the pillow. Ron took a moment to look around, quickly taking in the surroundings. The curtains around the bed were drawn, giving the illusion of privacy. The sound of the people and the activities beyond it filtered through, though, and destroyed the illusion almost immediately. 

He wondered why he was here, how he'd got that injury on his arm. When he tried his voice again, it was firmer. “What happened?”

“I don't know any details, but the doctor said that he was told you'd been hit by a burning timber.” Carwood's voice hitched, but only for a moment, then he continued. “It must have landed on your arm and knocked you down, and apparently you breathed in too much smoke which was the reason you were unconscious when they brought you in.” 

The words sparked a memory and Ron nodded slowly. “Oh right. The little girl in the barn. Is she all right?”

“You were the only one brought in, the doctor said.” Carwood replied, never ceasing the slow caress of his fingers in Ron's hair. “I guess she's fine, then.”

Ron nodded, trying to gather his thoughts, and he only managed to come up with one question. “How did you know I was here?”

“Someone from the hospital called me.” Carwood said with a shrug that wasn't nearly as casual as he probably wanted it to look. “They asked if I knew a Ronald C. Speirs and told me you were being treated for severe burns.”

“How did they know who to contact?” Ron wondered. The guys from the station knew he was friends with Carwood, but since none of the guys were here – they were probably still out fighting that fire - they hardly would have had the hospital inform Carwood. Especially since they didn't know about their relationship, so Carwood wouldn't have been on the top of their list of people to call.

“Are you all right, Car?” Ron asked when Carwood didn't reply, just looked at him with his eyes narrowed and his mouth pressed into a tight line. Carwood was silent for a long moment, then he let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“No.” He bent down slowly and pressed his cheek against Ron's, his hand resting on Ron's neck. His breath was warm and wet on Ron's skin and he felt the slight stubble of Carwood's cheek on his own. “But I will be once you're back home with me.”

“I'll be fine, Car." Ron said after a moment, soaking up Carwood's closeness and letting it ease his pain. He didn't tell him not to worry, because he knew Carwood always would, knew the risk of this happening again. 

“I know. I'll make sure you'll be fine.” Carwood pulled back and smiled, the gentle little smile he only ever gave Ron, and he pressed a kiss to Ron's forehead. “Go back to sleep, Ron. You need to rest so I can take you home soon.”

It was only then that Ron realised how exhausted he was, how much he wanted to go back to sleep. The darkness etched around his field of vision, and when he felt the reassuring touch of Carwood's fingers in his hair again, he decided not to fight it anymore.

“Sleep, Ron.” he heard Carwood's calm, soothing voice. “Sleep and get better.”

*** 

When Ron opened his eyes again, Carwood was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a tall blond man about Ron's age, wearing a doctor's uniform, stood at the foot of his bed and wrote on a chart. When he saw Ron move, the man looked up. “Mister Speirs, it's good to have you with us again.” 

He finished writing on the chart, set it down and came around to stand next to the bed. He began to check Ron's vitals with an air of practised routine and continued talking. “My name is Doctor Martin Reese. I treated you when you were brought in.”

He offered Ron a cup of water and Ron was glad to find that he was well enough to sit up on his own and drink it in whole, even if only in small sips. 

“You have severe burns on your left arm, from your hand right up over your elbow. Believe me when I tell you that you will have a hard time with those for the next few months. But apart from that, you came out of the incident remarkably unharmed. You were immensely lucky, Mister Speirs.” The doctor said matter-of-factly, not bothering to make things sound any better than they were. Ron appreciated the honesty. 

The doctor finished his check-up and took up the chart to write something down. “You breathed in a lot of smoke, Mister Speirs, but your colleagues got you out in time. A minute later and there wouldn't have been much we could have done for you.”

Ron listened and nodded. He couldn't help a quick glance at the drawn curtains and wondered where Carwood was.

“He's down the hall.” The doctor said without looking up from his chart. “He wouldn't leave you even for a minute ever since he arrived, so I'm quite certain he won't leave now. I sent him out to get a cup of coffee from the nurses' station, because he looked like he was falling asleep on his feet.”

Ron frowned, suspicious of the doctor's casual remark. There seemed to be more to it than the actual words he'd said. “Who contacted him, anyway?”

The doctor went very still, his gaze focussed on Ron with a sudden intensity that up til now, Ron had only ever seen in Doc Roe. When he replied, his voice was very quiet. “I did.” 

A smile appeared on the doctor's face, a small one that held an incredible amount of sadness, and he reached inside his collar and pulled out a set of worn dog tags, blackened by age, blood and sweat. With a frown on his face, Ron stared at the doctor's fingers that were slowly passing over the metal in a caress that seemed almost like a habit. 

“They're not mine.” The doctor said quietly. He looked as if he was lost in memories and his lips pressed into a tight line. “He died on a muddy street in Germany, only a month before the end of the war. Bled out right under my hands.”

Ron felt a shiver run through his body and goosebumps spread over his skin like icy fingers. The doctor looked up, his gaze too old and worn for someone his age. “We weren't so lucky to ever receive dog tags like yours.”

Ron was quiet, held the gaze and watched how the doctor's fingers passed over the worn metal. There was something so immensely sad in the gesture that it shook him to his core. He didn't know what he would have done if Carwood had bled out in his arms on a dirty road somewhere in Germany. He couldn't tell, didn't even want to think about the possibility. 

No, if he was honest, he knew what he would have done. He would have lost it. He wouldn't have lived to see the end of the war. He would have made sure of it.

His hand closed around his own dog tags, the ones he'd been wearing for the past eight years, and he replied without caring about the risks, “They were a gift from our CO after we'd left the service.”

The doctor smiled, and it actually reached his eyes this time. “You must have had a great CO, then.”

Ron gave a small nod. “Yes, we did.”

Only a few seconds later the curtain was pulled open enough for Carwood to enter, a cup of steaming hot coffee in his hand. He smiled at Ron, then he raised the cup and looked at the doctor. “Thank you, Doctor Reese. It was a good idea.”

“You're welcome, Mister Lipton.” The doctor replied with a friendly smile. “You looked like you needed it.”

“I did.” Carwood chuckled and walked over to stand by Ron's side, right next to the bed. 

“When can I leave?” Ron asked, feeling the urge to get out of the hospital. He'd never liked hospitals or aid stations during the war and he didn't like them now.

“This afternoon, but only if there is somebody to monitor you.” The doctor said and glanced at Carwood. “If there isn't, we'll keep you here for another day.”

“I'll be with him.” Carwood's voice left no doubt about it and the doctor nodded with a smirk.

“I already expected that. I'll have a nurse prepare the paperwork to discharge you, then you're free to go.”

Ron just nodded, not bothering to say anything.

“Be back here tomorrow to have the bandages on your burns changed.” The doctor went on, looking at the chart again and making a few notes. “I will have a nurse ready then who will show you how to take proper care of the injury, but you have to come back for a check-up once a week.” He threw Ron a hard look over the edge of the chart. “If you don't, I won't clear you for active duty, Mister Speirs.”

“He'll be there.” Carwood replied before Ron could even say a word. 

The doctor glanced at Carwood who stood next to the bed with the cup of coffee in his hands, then he looked back at Ron and gave him a little smile. “You are a very lucky man indeed, Mister Speirs.”

Ron couldn't help his gaze flickering to Carwood, taking in the way he hovered close almost protectively. After a moment, Ron's eyes returned to the doctor and he nodded, a smile tugging on his lips. 

“I know.”


	25. Of Revelations and Reunions (Speirs/Lipton, implied Winters/Nixon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Easy boys meet again in 1958. Or: Lipton finds out that his secret has never been a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Luz looked around again, his gaze passing over the huge blue sign saying _'Easy Company Reunion 1958'_ , the screaming eagle printed above the words. They were in quite a ritzy hotel, and he couldn't help feeling slightly out of place there. He pulled on his Lucky Strike – he'd never changed the brand after the war – and watched one man after another arrive in the fancy entrance hall. Some of them were faces he hadn't seen in years, but would always recognise. When he spotted Lip entering, Luz had to admit that he wasn't too surprised to find Speirs right next to him. Speirs stood with his back straight, his shoulders squared and his expression neutral, just like he always did. Sometimes Luz wondered if it wasn't just the war and being in the army, maybe Speirs just _was_ like that.

Frank and Bull were greeting Lip and Speirs, smiles and shaking hands and embraces – well, embracing Lip at least. The men were still careful around Speirs, nobody believed him to be any less dangerous just because he was a civilian now. Some things never changed, especially if they'd been ingrained as deeply as the respectful wariness the men had for Captain Ronald Speirs. Even if the 'Captain' part lay over a decade in the past now.

Lip had a huge grin on his face and talked comfortably with the other men while Speirs seemed as slightly aloof as he'd always been. Luz could tell that he was listening to the conversation, though, and he wondered when he'd learned to read the man. Maybe it was an age thing. Becoming wise and all that. Although, he'd only just turned thirty-six, so maybe that didn't count as wise yet.

Luz flipped his burnt-down cigarette into the ashtray to his left. He decided it was time for him to join the little private party Lip and the others were having, and made his way over to the group of men. 

“George!” Lip's huge smile showed that he was really pleased to see him, and Luz returned it immediately. “It's so good to see you. How are you?”

“Hey Lip.” Luz grinned and pulled the other man into an embrace. “I'm fine, really good, actually. And you?”

Luz stepped back and looked at Speirs who inclined his head in a little nod, then he extended his hand. “Luz.”

For a moment, Luz was surprised by the gesture. Speirs had never tended towards physical contact – at least not with anyone other than Lip – but Luz recognised the gesture as a sign of respect and caught himself quickly. He accepted the hand he was offered and shook it with a firm grip. “Good to see you came, sir.”

And yet again, something that never changed. Luz didn't think he'd ever be able to stop calling Speirs 'sir', even if he wasn't his superior officer anymore and hadn't been for ages. There was just something about the man that commanded respect, and it still worked as well as it had in the army. Speirs had never drawn his authority from his rank.

“I had no choice.” Speirs replied with a faint smirk and glanced at Lip. 

Luz followed his gaze and chuckled. “He can be very persuasive, can't he?” 

Speirs turned back to Luz and nodded. “Very.”

“Don't talk about me like I'm not standing right next to you.” Lip chided both of them with an indignant huff and glared at each of them in turn. Luz fought his grin and pulled out a new cigarette to avoid looking at Lip.

“I'm going to get a drink.” Speirs said to Lip, not bothering to hide his amusement. His hand touched the small of Lip's back, a gesture that seemed so familiar that Luz couldn't help remembering that it was the same one they'd been doing ever since Belgium. It was the same kind of touch Luz had watched them exchange so many times during the war that he had stopped counting. “Do you want something?”

“A beer, please.” Lip replied and Luz watched him lean into the touch. He was sure nobody else really noticed. They'd all become so used to it during the war that it didn't stand out to any Easy man anymore. Speirs nodded and left for the bar, and Luz saw that he didn't get very far before Nixon pulled him aside with a huge grin that was actually returned. Lip would have to wait for his beer, Luz thought with a grin.

*** 

It was long past ten o'clock when Luz decided that he really needed a bit of fresh air. It had become more and more stifling in the rather large hall they had booked for their reunion. Maybe it was also the alcohol speaking, Luz thought with a grin. Although he hadn't tried to beat Perco in the drinking game Bull had suggested. Luz had learned that lesson a long time ago. It didn't seem like Malarkey had, though, because he'd been stupid enough to agree to it. 

Luz chuckled to himself while he made his way out on one of the many balconies. Frank would literally drink Malark under the table, he had no doubt about that. It was the reason why Luz had placed his bet on Frank: it would make him rich.

When he'd stepped through the huge double doors, open to let in as much fresh air as possible, he noticed a figure at the unlit end of the balcony. The silhouette was familiar, he'd seen it so often in the dark that he guessed he would recognise it until the day he died. “Hey Lip. What are you doing here all alone?”

“I just needed a little bit of quiet.” Lip replied with a smile and turned towards him. “I just got back from a trip to France yesterday and I'm still out of synch with time.”

“France, hmm?” Luz pulled out his Lucky Strikes and offered one to Lip. 

“Thanks.” Lip said and accepted. Another thing that never changed, Luz thought with a smirk. Lip still didn't have his own smokes, and he probably still didn't own a lighter.

“So, why France?” Luz asked and held out his own lighter to Lip.

“It was for a huge contract for the company I work for.” Lip explained before dragging on his cigarette. “I couldn't cancel the trip, but I managed to shorten it by two days so that I could make it here today.” 

“I never expected anything less.” Luz said with a teasing grin, well aware that Lip had never once missed one of Easy's reunions. He was still Mama Lip, another thing that would never change.

“I know.” Lip grinned and turned to lean with his hip against the railing of the balcony, cigarette between his fingers. In the faint light filtering through the doors a few feet away, Luz saw a reflection of something metallic right under the collar of Lip's shirt. It looked like a chain. Actually, it looked like a very specific kind of chain that Luz knew only too well.

“What's that?” Luz asked and reached for the chain with a grin. “Don't tell me you're still wearing your dog tags, Lip?”

He had it pulled out of Lip's shirt and held the tags in his hands before Lip had any time to react. When Lip had recovered from his surprise and tried to cover the tags with his hand, Luz resolutely pushed his fingers aside. He'd seen something that had attracted his curiosity – Speirs' name on Lip's dog tags. Now he really wanted to read the rest. 

He frowned, not sure what to make of it. There was Lip's data on the tags, just as there should be, but then, as his next of kin, there was Speirs' name and the address that Luz knew was Lip's, too. How could that be? He was pretty sure that it was not what the tags had said back in '45. There was only one possibility... 

“These are not your original tags.” Luz said when he'd finished reading, the tags still held firmly in his hand. He realised that Lip had frozen up next him. His face was carefully neutral, but worry still showed in his eyes. 

“No, they're not.” His voice was quiet, a cautious note to it, and Luz didn't like that sound at all. 

“Speirs has a matching pair, I assume?” He hadn't thought it possible, but Lip's posture became even stiffer and his eyes even more cautious. Luz just shook his head with an exasperated sigh. “Oh come on, Lip, relax. As if I haven't known ever since Rachamps.”

Now, Lip actually looked stunned. “What?”

Luz gave another sigh, this one even more exasperated. “Who pointed out to you that Speirs treated you differently?”

Lip hesitated a moment and bit his lip, as if he was unsure where this question led. “You.”

“Right, me.” Luz replied and pulled on his cigarette. “And guess what? I'm very observant. The looks, the touches, the cigarettes, your connection.” Luz shrugged. “When you know what to look for, it isn't too difficult to see things for what they are.”

Lip was quiet for a long moment, and there were so many emotions running through his eyes that Luz couldn't identify them all. When Lip spoke, his voice was almost silent. “So you've known the whole time?”

“I had an idea, yes, but I didn't exactly _know_.” Luz shrugged again, then he admitted with a smirk tugging on his lips, “Well, until right before we left Austria, that is.”

“Why's that?” Lipton asked with a confused frown.

“Well, actually, Speirs gave me a pack of cigarettes. Told me it was to thank me for opening your eyes.” Luz explained and couldn't hide the smirk anymore when he saw Lip stare at him with an incredulous expression on his face. “When I asked him what he'd do after the war, he said he was going to move to Huntington. That was pretty much a confession.”

“He never told me.” Lip remarked with a tiny frown and Luz wondered if he'd got Speirs into trouble. He hoped not, because he didn't doubt the man would find a way to make him pay for it.

“Well, of course he didn't.” Luz pulled on his cigarette again. “But really, it was only the last confirmation of what we had suspected all along.”

“We?” Lip asked, now with a full blown frown. “Who is 'we'?”

“Easy. We called you Mama Lip and Papa Speirs.” Luz said with a huge grin. “Really, Lip, we all took it for granted that you and Speirs had a special bond. A bit like Winters and Nixon. It was never much of a secret.”

“All the boys knew that...” Instead of angry, Lip now looked outright shocked. He didn't even finish the sentence, and that alone was a very good indication of _how_ shocked he really was.

“No, I don't think so.” Luz hurried to say, trying to calm him down. “Things are different during wartime, you know that. The relationship you have with your fellow soldiers is different from anything you've known back home.” Luz looked at him, serious for once. He needed Lip to understand. “The criteria by which we judged things were different. What happened in the foxhole stayed in the foxhole.”

Lip had obviously not recovered enough to actually form words. There was a mixture of anguish, worry and concern on his face, and maybe there was even a hint of fear. Luz hated that expression with passion. It didn't fit the man who'd led Easy through Bastogne and Landsberg without ever breaking down, being their source of strength to draw on when they'd thought they couldn't go on. Luz knew Lip was only affected so strongly by the whole conversation because of how much the men and their respect meant to him, and Luz realised it was time to make it unmistakably clear that he had nothing to fear from any of his Easy boys.

“Listen to me, Lip. We'll always stick together. Every single Easy man will have your and Speirs' back. Whatever happens. You've led us through hell on earth and made sure we got out alive, and we won't ever forget that.” Luz flicked his halfway smoked Lucky Strike over the railing and used his now free hand to grab Lip's shoulder, the other still holding the dog tags. “We're brothers, all of us, and we don't say that lightly. You should know that.”

Lip held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. The fear and the anguish in his eyes were gone, replaced by slow understanding. Luz wondered how a man who was so downright honourable could think so little of himself. A man who would have given his life for every single soldier under his command and yet he didn't seem to know that they would return the favour without a moment's hesitation. Maybe it was part of what made him so decent, Luz mused. That he didn't just assume. That he didn't take things for granted.

Luz looked at the tags in his hand. They had darkened as they only did with the passing of time. There were some scratches and a few dents, but they looked far better than Luz's had when he'd taken them off for good after the war. “How long have you had them?” 

Lip had followed his gaze and was looking at the tags with a silent little smile. “Twelve years.”

“That's a long time.” Luz looked up with a smirk and let the tags fall back against Lip's shirt. “Who would've thought that anything good could come out of that war?”

“Yeah.” Lip's hand closed around his tags and when he looked up, he gave Luz a smile. A real one, one that made his eyes glow. “Who would have thought.”

They were quiet for a moment, leaning against the railing in comfortable silence. Then Lip turned to look at Luz with a mischievous gleam in his eyes that Luz was sure he'd never seen before. He didn't know what to expect, so he stared back and asked, “What?”

Lip's smirk transformed into a wide grin. “George, did I ever tell you we named our dog 'Luz'?”


	26. Of Memories and Stories (Speirs/Lipton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories, written down. Or: How Ron and Carwood spent the evening of their life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose an outsider's POV for the last 24 years of Ron's and Carwood's life, and the way I did this might feel strange at first. Please give it a try ^_^
> 
> First beta'd in 2011 by taterswhats.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/nanuk_dain/pic/0008xqg1)

Preface to _“In Bad Times – As in Good. The Story of a Bond formed in WWII”_ , the surprise best-selling narrative biography of Ronald Speirs and Carwood Lipton written by upcoming author Joanne Summer:

 

_“I saw Ronald Speirs and Carwood Lipton for the first time on my sixth birthday. Actually, I first met Bull, their huge Great Dane._

_It was early morning and I was lingering around in the living room, because my mom had told me I wasn't allowed in the kitchen since she was preparing a surprise for me. I had wished for a dog for my birthday, but my parents had told me 'no', so when I saw a black dog sitting on the front lane, I thought they had changed their mind and this was the surprise my mom had talked about. I was out of the door and hugging the dog before anybody could react._

_I remember hearing the panicked voice of my mom behind me, but it didn't really register, I was too busy cuddling a dog that was taller than I was. I only looked up when I heard a man chuckle and say, “I see you've made friends with Bull already.”_

_Then my mom reached me and pulled me away from the dog, apologising over and over again to the man for my behaviour. Only then did I understand that the dog wasn't meant for me, but that he belonged to our new neighbours who were just moving in that day. I think the realisation broke my child's heart, and it must have shown on my face, because the man smiled and said, “I think Bull likes you. You can play with him later, if your mother allows it.”_

_That was how I met Carwood Lipton. To me, he was a friendly old man with this huge dog I had already lost my heart to. I remember that I thought that he looked like the grandfather I'd never had, with his kind face and his white hair. He was sixty-three years old at the time and to me, that was ancient. I begged my mom with eyes and words to be allowed to play with Bull later that day, and after more excuses and a slightly embarrassed 'thank you' to the new neighbour, she accepted. It was the best birthday gift I can remember ever getting._

_Bull and I were inseparable before the day had ended, and I think my parents couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed in front of the new neighbours for my outright love for their dog, or relieved that they wouldn't have to put up with me begging for a dog of my own anymore. As a thank you and a welcome, they invited the new neighbours over that night, offering dinner and wine seeing how they were still moving in and their kitchen wasn't operational yet. That was how I met Ronald Speirs._

_When the new neighbours arrived that evening, I didn't pay them much attention; I had my arms wrapped around Bull before they had even entered the house. Bull always carried something around, be it his current chewing bone, a stick or even his own leash, and that night he brought a ball and we began to play immediately, without caring for the adults. When I heard laughter from the door, I glanced back at the entrance and found the adults watching me, smiling. There was a man standing behind the neighbour I had met that morning, and he was just as old, with salt-and-pepper hair and a very straight posture. He just looked at us and shook his head with a smirk. “I see what you mean. They're like Pee-Wee and Bull.”_

_Somehow, the name stuck. For the next thirteen years, we were known as 'Pee-Wee and Bull' in the neighbourhood, and even in high school I was called 'Pee-Wee' or just 'Wee'. I think some kids never knew my real name. Only now, twenty-four years later and six years of research wiser, I understand the names. I've even talked to John Martin when I visited him for an interview about four years ago. I told him about my nickname and showed him a picture that my dad had taken of Bull and me sitting next to each other on the steps of the porch. I was maybe ten or eleven years old in that picture, but sitting, Bull was still taller than me. Mister Martin couldn't stop laughing for several minutes, reassuring me that the choice of names for me and the dog were entirely fitting, then he showed me a picture of him and Mister Randleman from 1944, and I understood what he meant. I couldn't help sharing his laughter._

_I spent as much time growing up at my parents' house as at Ron's and Carwood's, and after the first year, I came and went in both houses as if I actually lived in both. My parents and Ron and Carwood got along really well after that first evening, and soon they became part of the family. There wasn't a single family barbecue without them._

_At the time, I was too young to understand why some people avoided Ron and Carwood or talked bad about them behind their backs. For me, Ron and Carwood were always mentioned in the same breath, they just belonged together, like my mom and my dad, and it took me until I was twelve to understand what all the talk was about. Having grown up with Ron and Carwood, I never really saw the problem these other people seemed to have, though, and I even got in a fight with an older boy once when he bragged on the school yard about how Ron and Carwood were dirty faggots and should be shot. I had hit him before I had even thought about it._

_When my mom had to come to the principal's office to get me, she was silent. Only in the car did she tell me that I had done the right thing and that she was proud of me, but next time, I should find a way that didn't involve my fists. Then she told me that if she had to come to the principal's office again to get me after a fight, I'd be grounded for a month, and that would include going for walks with Bull. It was probably the most effective threat there was, and she knew it._

_I got in a few other fights afterwards, but I made sure not to be caught so that my mom never had to come to the principal's office again. I wouldn't have wanted to miss time with Bull for anything. Every now and then, Bull waited for me outside the school, and sometimes he brought Ron with him. Then I'd throw my bag in Ron's old, battered pick-up truck and the three of us would range the woods for hours, until it was time for dinner. I loved those afternoons, they're among my fondest childhood memories._

_When I was fourteen, I asked my dad to take me with him on one of his hunting trips and teach me how to shoot. I think I actually shocked him, because he stared at me for a whole minute before he told me that I was too young for a weapon and that girls didn't have the strength for it anyway. When later that day, instead of doing my homework I stared with a deep frown at Carwood's rifle that was mounted on the wall, Ron caught me staring and asked me what was up. I repeated what my father had said to me, and after a moment of silence, Ron told me to be at the back door at dawn on Saturday morning in clothes that could get dirty. Over the years, both Ron and Carwood went hunting with me and taught me everything there is to know about every weapon they owned, from various guns to rifles to knives. We made sure my father never found out._

_Bull died when I was nineteen. Carwood told me when I came over after school, and I sat on the couch and cried for hours. I remember the safe circle of Carwood's arms around me and his soothing hand on my back until I fell asleep from exhaustion. When I woke up the next morning, Carwood brought me a cup of strong coffee and we sat on the porch and drank in silence. Ron joined us a bit later, sat down on my other side and wordlessly wrapped his arm around my shoulder. The three of us sat there for a long time before Ron asked me if I wanted to join them in burying Bull in his favourite spot in the woods. I just nodded, and I think it helped me to find some kind of closure, although I still miss Bull today._

_Carwood died when I was twenty-four. I hurried home from college when my mom called and told me, and I just stopped briefly at my parents' house to deposit my bag, then I hurried over to Ron's. I found him in the living room in Carwood's favourite rocking chair, head bent and something in his hand that his fingers were passing over again and again in a slow caress. He didn't look up when I entered and I didn't say anything, I knew him too well to offer meaningless words. I just sat down in the armchair on the other side of the little table and waited. After maybe an hour, he opened his hand and stared at what I could identify as a set of dog-tags now that the light of the lamp reached it. Ron stared at them for a few minutes, then he looked up, his eyes bloodshot but dry, and he held my gaze for a long time before he asked, “Do you want to hear a story, Jo?”_

_I just nodded, never breaking the gaze, and he began to talk. In all those years I've known him, Ron has never said more than a few sentences at once. He had always been a quiet man, but that evening, he spoke for hours, his voice sometimes rough with emotion, sometimes dark with anger, sometimes light with a smile. I saw a side of him and Carwood that I had never seen before, and sometimes I think I got to know them both better in that one evening than in the eighteen years beforehand._

_When I sat on the couch after Ron had gone to bed, I felt my mind spinning with all the things he'd told me. After an hour of unsuccessfully trying to find some sleep, I got up and found a pen and a notepad and began writing down Ron's memories. When he got up around dawn, I had half of the notepad filled and I was still writing. He just looked at me with a little smile and made breakfast for us. And so it came that I began to research, began to track down people from Ron's memories, met with them, talked with them and slowly, I completed the picture I had got from Ron. I always regretted that I couldn't ask Carwood anymore, and sometimes I hate myself for never having asked when I still could have._

_At Carwood's funeral, I stood next to Ron, our shoulders touching. He stared down into the grave and his face was devoid of any emotion. When I remembered his words from the night before I could see through his mask and I found things I had never expected. Sometimes I wonder if maybe for a short moment, I saw what Carwood had seen._

_Ron passed away three months ago. He read the finished draft of this book that I spent almost six years writing. When I visited him, he had tears in his eyes when he told me that it had been the most beautiful gift to relive his life once more, to relive the fifty-six years he had been allowed to spend with Carwood. I have never seen him that emotional, and I don't think I can ever put in words how much that single tear on his cheek means to me._

_I want to dedicate this book to Ron, who was a guiding light for me in my youth, and to Carwood, whose honest affection was a haven I could always turn to; and of course to Bull, who was my loyal partner in crime for thirteen years and the best friend I have ever had. Thank you for having been part of my life._

_I won't ever forget you.”_

_Joanne 'Pee-Wee' Summer, July 2007_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like this new version of the story. It took me quite some time to rework it all and you'd make my day with a wee comment to let me know what you think about it ^_^

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Of Gestures and Appreciation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21057290) by [Lysel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysel/pseuds/Lysel)




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